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NEW  YORK.  O.I"  PUTNAM 


0' '  T/ify  found.  thelJoctor  sfiaifd  m  an  elbow   chazr  " 

(v.  *ooi 


,, 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 


BY 

WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


"  Under  this  cloud  I  walk,  Gentlemen ;  pardon  my  rude  assault.  I  am  a  traveller,  who 
having  surveyed  most  of  the  terrestrial  angles  of  this  globe,  am  hither  arrived,  to  peruse 
this  little  spot." 

CHRISTMAS  ORDINARY. 


JttustraM 


WITH    FOURTEEN    ORIGINAL   DESIGNS   BY    SCHMOLZE, 
ENGRAVED   ON  STEEL   BT   GREATBACH  AND  OTIIEKS. 


NEW  YORK : 

G.    P.    PUTNAM,    No.    321    BROADWAY. 

1858. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  185", 
BY  Q.  P.  PUTNAM, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  tho 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


JOH»  F.  TROW, 
Printer,  Stereotyper,  and  Electrotyper, 

377  &  379  Broadwur, 
Cor.  White  Street,  New  York. 


2,05*7 

Al 


Illustrations, 


THE  ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMAN,    (See  p.  241).     FRONTISPIECE 
THE  BUSY  MAN,  PAGE    21 

THE  LOVERS,                                                                      .        -  38 

THE  PORTRAIT,  44 

THE  STABLE  YARD  ON  A  RAINY  DAY, 7t> 

THE  FARM  HOUSE,  -  99 

THE  GIPSEY  ENCAMPMENT,                        ,.                                  -  139 

PROCESSION  TO  THE  AUTO-DA  FE,      -                          -  *226 

FORTUNE  TELLING,                                257 

READY  MONEY  JACK,             270 

MAY  DAY— VILLAGE  MUSICIANS, 292 

THE  TRAVELLER  AND  THE  GOBLIN,  342 

DOLPH  HEYLIGER  AND  THE  DOCTOR, 379 

DOLPH  HEYLIGER  AND  THE  APPARITION,         ...  395 


179 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  AUTHOR,  .......  9 

THE  HALL,              .             .             .            .             .             .             •  16 

THE  BUSY  MAN,  .....  .20 

FAMILY  SERVANTS,              ....  26 

THE  WIDOW,  .... 

THE  LOVERS,          ....... 

FAMILY  RELICS,  .... 

AN  OLD  SOLDIER,               ......  48 

THE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE,            .....'  52 

READY-MONEY  JACK,         ......  56 

BACHELORS,       ........  62 

WIVES,        .....  66 

STORY  TELLING,           .......  73 

THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN,    ......  75 

FOREST  TREES,              .......  87 

A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY,  .... 

THE  FARM  HOUSE, 

HORSEMANSHIP,       ....... 

LOVE  SYMPTOMS,           .......  109 

FALCONRY,               .             .            .             .             .             .            .  112 

HAWKING,          ........  117 

ST.  MARK'S  EVE,               ......  124 


VI  CONTEXTS. 

PACK 

GENTILITY,        ........  134 

JninixK  TELLING.                                                 .            .            .  139 

LOVE  CHAKMS,              .             .             .             .             .             .  14.") 

THE  LIURARY,       .              ......  150 

Tin-:  Sum  NT  .T    SALAMANCA,              .....  1 ,"-:'. 

KM.I.I.-II    ('<H-.NTI:Y  GKXTI.KMEN,     .....  230 

A    I'.AI  m.i.'ii;'-  COM  i -SIGNS,                  .....  244 

KM.I.I-H  CKAVITV,               ......  240 

(In1-:                    .             .             .             .             .             .             .             .  255 

MAY-DAY  CUSTOM-.             .             .            .             .             .             .  2G1 

VILLAGE  WORTHIES,     .......  266 

269 


THE  SCHOOL,    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .27.") 

A  VILLAGE  POLITICIAN,     .            .            .            .            .            .  27!» 

THE   ROOKEUY,             .......  284 

MAY-DAY,               .             .             .             .             .             .             .  2!)  2 

Tin    MAM-,  KIIT,         .......  303 

ANNKTTI:  PKLAKBRE,           ......  306 

TRAVELLING,     ........  .'531 

I'olTLAR    SUPEIUSTITIONS,      ......  ,'>.">X 

THE  CULPUIT,               .......  34S 

FAMILY  MISFORTUNES,        ......  356 

LOVERS'  TROUBLES,      .             .             .             .             .             .             .  360 

THE  HISTORIAN,     .......  366 

Tin:  HAINTED    HOUSE,              ......  369 

DOLPH  HEYLIGKR,               ......  374 

THE  WEDDING,            .......  449 

THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL,             ....  459 


WORTHY  HEADER  : 

ON  again  taking  pen  in  hand,  I  would  fain  make  a 
few  observations  at  the  outset,  by  way  of  bespeaking  a  right  un 
derstanding.  The  volumes  which  I  have  already  published  have 
met  with  a  reception  far  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations. 
I  would  willingly  attribute  this  to  their  intrinsic  merits ;  but,  in 
spite  of  the  vanity  of  authorship,  I  cannot  but  be  sensible  that 
their  success  has,  in  a  great  measure,  been  owing  to  a  less  natter 
ing  cause.  It  has  been  a  matter  of  marvel,  to  my  European 
readers,  that  a  man  from  the  wilds  of  America  should  express 
himself  in  tolerable  English.  I  was  looked  upon  as  something 
new  and  strange  in  literature ;  a  kind  of  demi-savage,  with  a 
feather  in  his  hand,  instead  of  on  his  head ;  and  there  was  a 
curiosity  to  hear  what  such  a  being  had  to  say  about  civilized 
society. 

This  novelty  is  now  at  an  end,  and  of  course  the  feeling  of 
indulgence  which  it  produced.  I  must  now  expect  to  bear  the 
scrutiny  of  sterner  criticisms,  and  to  be  measured  by  the  same 
standard  of  contemporary  writers ;  and  the  very  favor  shown  to 
my  previous  writings,  will  cause  these  to  be  treated  with  the 
greatest  rigor ;  as  there  is  nothing  for  which  the  world  is  apt  to 
punish  a  man  more  severely,  than  for  having  been  over-praised. 
1* 


10  THE   AUTHOR. 

On  this  head,  therefore,  I  wish  to  forestall  the  censoriousness  of 
the  reader ;  and  I  entreat  he  will  not  think  the  worse  of  me  for 
the  many  injudicious  things  that  may  have  been  said  in  my  com 
mendation. 

I  am  aware  that  I  often  travel  over  beaten  ground,  and  treat 
of  subjects  that  have  already  been  discussed  by  abler  pens.  In 
deed,  various  authors  have  been  mentioned  as  my  models,  to  whom 
I  should  feel  flattered  if  I  thought  I  bore  the  slightest  resem 
blance  ;  but  in  truth  I  write  after  no  model  that  I  am  conscious 
of,  and  I  write  with  no  idea  of  imitation  or  competition.  In 
venturing  occasionally  on  topics  that  have  already  been  almost 
exhausted  by  English  authors,  I  do  it,  not  with  the  presumption 
of  challenging  a  comparison,  but  with  the  hope  that  some  new 
interest  may  be  given  to  such  topics,  when  discussed  by  the  pen 
of  a  stranger. 

If,  therefore,  I  should  sometimes  be  found  dwelling  with 
fondness  on  subjects  trite  and  commonplace  with  the  reader,  I 
beg  the  circumstances  under  which  I  write  may  be  kept  in  recol 
lection.  Having  been  born  and  brought  up  in  a  new  country, 
yet  educated  from  infancy  in  the  literature  of  an  old  one,  my 
mind  was  early  filled  with  historical  and  poetical  associations, 
connected  with  places,  and  manners,  and  customs  of  Europe ; 
but  which  could  rarely  be  applied  to  those  of  my  own  country. 
To  a  mind  thus  peculiarly  prepared,  the  most  ordinary  objects 
and  scenes,  on  arriving  in  Europe,  are  full  of  strange  matter  and 
interesting  novelty.  England  is  as  classic  ground  to  an  Ameri 
can,  as  Italy  is  to  an  Englishman ;  and  old  London  teems  with 
as  much  historical  association  as  mighty  Rome. 

Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  the  whimsical  medley  of 
ideas  that  throng  upon  his  mind  on  landing  among  English 


THE   AUTHOR.  ll 

scenes.  He  for  the  first  time  sees  a  world  about  tfhich  he  has 
been  reading  and  thinking  in  every  stage  of  his  existence.  The 
recollected  ideas  of  infancy,  youth,  and  manhood ;  of  the  nur 
sery,  the  school,  and  the  study,  come  swarming  at  once  upon 
him ;  and  his  attention  is  distracted  between  great  and  little  ob 
jects  ;  each  of  which,  perhaps,  awakens  an  equally  delightful 
train  of  remembrances. 

But  what  more  especially  attracts  his  notice,  are  those  pecu 
liarities  .which  distinguish  an  old  country  and  an  old  state  of 
society  from  a  new  one.  I  have  never  yet  grown  familiar  enough 
with  the  crumbling  monuments  of  past  ages,  to  blunt  the  intense 
interest  with  which  I  at  first  beheld  them.  Accustomed  always 
to  scenes  where  history  wras,  in  a  manner,  anticipation  ;  where 
every  thing  in  art  was  new  and  progressive,  and  pointed  to  the 
future  rather  than  to  the  past ;  where,  in  short,  the  works  of  man 
gave  no  ideas  but  those  of  young  existence,  and  prospective  im 
provement  ;  there  was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in  the 
sight  of  enormous  piles  of  architecture,  gray  with  antiquity,  and 
sinking  to  decay.  I  cannot  describe  the  mute  but  deep-felt  en 
thusiasm  with  which  I  have  contemplated  a  vast  monastic  ruin, 
like  Tintern  Abbey,  buried  in  the  bosom  of  a  quiet  valley,  and 
shut  up  from  the  world,  as  though  it  had  existed  merely  for  itself ; 
or  a  warrior  pile,  like  Conway  Castle,  standing  in  stern  loneliness 
on  its  rocky  height,  a  mere  hollow  yet  threatening  phantom  of 
departed  power.  They  spread  a  grand,  and  melancholy,  and,  to 
me,  an  unusual  charm  over  the  landscape ;  I  for  the  first  time 
beheld  signs  of  national  old  age,  and  empire's  decay,  and  proofs 
of  the  transient  and  perishing  glories  of  art,  amidst  the  ever- 
springing  and  reviving  fertility  of  nature. 

But,  in  fact,  to  me  every  thing  was  full  of  matter ;  the  foot- 


12  THE   AUTHOR. 

steps  of  history  were  every  where  to  be  traced ;  and  poetry  had 
breathed  over  and  sanctified  the  land.  I  experienced  the  delight 
ful  freshness  of  feeling  of  a  child,  to  whom  every  thing  is  new. 
I  pictured  to  myself  a  set  of  inhabitants  and  a  mode  of  life  for 
every  habitation  that  I  saw,  from  the  aristocratical  mansion, 
amidst  the  lordly  repose  of  stately  groves  and  solitary  parks,  to 
the  straw-thatched  cottage,  with  its  scanty  garden  and  its  cher 
ished  woodbine.  I  thought  I  never  could  be  sated  with  the 
sweetness  and  freshness  of  a  country  so  completely  carpeted  with 
verdure  ;  where  every  air  breathed  of  the  balmy  pasture,  and  the 
honeysuckled  hedge.  I  was  continually  coming  upon  some  little 
document  of  poetry  in  the  blossomed  hawthorn,  the  daisy,  the 
cowslip,  the  primrose,  or  some  other  simple  object  that  has  re 
ceived  a  supernatural  value  from  the  muse.  The  first  time  that 
I  hoard  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  I  was  intoxicated  more  by 
the  delicious  crowd  of  remembered  associations  than  by  the 
melody  of  its  notes ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  thrill  of  ecstasy 
with  which  I  first  saw  the  lark  rise,  almost  from  beneath  my  feet, 
and  wing  its  musical  flight  up  into  the  morning  sky. 

In  this  way  I  traversed  England,  a  grown-up  child,  delighted 
by  every  object,  great  and  small ;  and  betraying  a  wondering 
ignorance,  and  simple  enjoyment,  that  provoked  many  a  stare  and 
a  smile  from  my  wiser  and  more  experienced  fellow-travellers. 
Such  too  was  the  odd  confusion  of  associations  that  kept  break 
ing  upon  me  as  I  first  approached  London.  One  of  my  earliest 
wishes  had  been  to  see  this  great  metropolis.  I  had  read  so 
much  about  it  in  the  earliest  books  put  into  my  infant  hands ; 
and  I  had  heard  so  much  about  it  from  those  around  me  who  had 
come  from  the  "old  countries,"  that  I  was  familiar  with  the 
names  of  its  streets  and  squares,  and  public  places,  before  I  knew 


THE  AUTHOR.  13 

those  of  my  native  city.  It  was,  to  me,  the  great  centre  of  the 
world,  round  which  every  thing  seemed  to  revolve.  I  recollect 
contemplating  so  wistfully,  when  a  boy,  a  paltry  little  print  of 
the  Thames,  and  London  Bridge,  and  St.  Paul's,  that  was  in  front 
of  an  old  magazine ;  and  a  picture  of  Kensington  Gardens,  with 
gentlemen  in  three-cornered  hats  and  broad  skirts,  and  ladies  in 
hoops  and  lappets,  that  hung  up  in  my  bedroom ;  even  the  ven 
erable  cut  of  St.  John's  Gate,  that  has  stood,  time  out  of  mind, 
in  front  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  was  not  without  its  charms 
to  me ;  and  I  envied  the  odd-looking  little  men  that  appeared  to 
be  loitering  about  its  arches. 

How  then  did  my  heart  warm  when  the  towers  of  Westmin 
ster  Abbey  were  pointed  out  to  me,  rising  above  the  rich  groves 
of  St.  James's  Park,  with  a  thin  blue  haze  above  their  gray  pin 
nacles  !  I  could  not  behold  this  great  mausoleum  of  what  is  most 
illustrious  in  our  paternal  history,  without  feeling  my  enthusiasm 
in  a  glow.  With  what  eagerness  did  I  explore  every  part  of  the 
metropolis !  I  was  not  content  with  those  matters  which  occupy 
the  dignified  research  of  the  learned  traveler ;  I  delighted  to  call 
up  all  the  feelings  of  childhood,  and  to  seek  after  those  objects 
which  had  been  the  wonders  of  my  infancy.  London  Bridge,  so 
famous  in  nursery  song ;  the  far-famed  monument ;  Gog  and 
Magog,  and  the  Lions  in  the  Tower,  all  brought  back  many  a 
recollection  of  infantine  delight,  and  of  good  old  beings,  now  no 
more,  who  had  gossiped  about  them  to  my  wondering  ear.  Nor 
was  it  without  a  recurrence  of  childish  interest  that  I  first  peeped 
into  Mr.  Newberry's  shop,  in  St.  Paul's  Church-yard,  that  foun 
tain-head  of  literature.  Mr.  Newberry  was  the  first  that  ever 
filled  my  infant  mind  with  the  idea  of  a  great  and  good  man. 
He  published  all  the  picture-books  of  the  day ;  and,  out  of  his 


14  THE   AUTHOE. 

abundant  love  for  children,  he  charged  "  nothing  for  either  paper 
or  print,  and  only  a  penny-halfpenny  for  the  binding ! " 

I  have  mentioned  these  circumstances,  worthy  reader,  to  show 
you  the  whimsical  crowd  of  associations  that  are  apt  to  beset  my 
mind  on  mingling  among  English  scenes.  I  hope  they  may,  in 
some  measure,  plead  my  apology,  should  I  be  found  harping  upon 
stale  and  trivial  themes,  or  indulging  an  over-fondness  for  any 
thing  antique  and  obsolete.  I  know  it  is  the  humor,  not  to  say 
cant  of  the  day,  to  run  riot  about  old  times,  old  books,  old  cus 
toms,  and  old  buildings ;  with  myself,  however,  as  far  as  I  have 
caught  the  contagion,  the  feeling  is  genuine.  To  a  man  from  a 
young  country,  all  old  things  are  in  a  manner  new ;  and  he  may 
surely  be  excused  in  being  a  little  curious  about  antiquities,  whose 
native  land,  unfortunately,  cannot  boast  of  a  single  ruin. 

Having  been  brought  up,  also,  in  the  comparative  simplicity 
of  a  republic,  I  am  apt  to  be  struck  with  even  the  ordinary  cir 
cumstances  incident  to  an  aristocratical  state  of  society.  If,  how 
ever,  I  should  at  any  time  amuse  myself  by  pointing  out  some  of 
the  eccentricities,  and  some  of  the  poetical  characteristics  of  the 
latter,  I  would  not  be  understood  as  pretending  to  decide  upon 
its  political  merits.  My  only  aim  is  to  paint  characters  and  man 
ners.  I  am  no  politician.  The  more  I  have  considered  the  study 
of  politics,  the  more  I  have  found  it  full  of  perplexity ;  and  I 
have  contented  myself,  as  I  have  in  my  religion,  with  the  faith 
in  which  I  was  brought  up,  regulating  my  own  conduct  by 
its  precepts;  but  leaving  to  abler  heads  the  task  of  making 
converts. 

I  shall  continue  on,  therefore,  in  the  course  I  have  hitherto 
pursued ;  looking  at  things  poetically,  rather  than  politically ; 
describing  them  as  they  are,  rather  than  pretending  to  point  out 


THE  AUTHOR.  15 

how  they  should  be ;  and  endeavoring  to  see  the  world  in  as 
pleasant  a  light  as  circumstances  will  permit. 

I  have  always  had  an  opinion  that  much  good  might  be  done 
by  keeping  mankind  in  good  humor  with  one  another.  I  may  be 
Avrong  in  my  philosophy,  but  I  shall  continue  to  practise  it  until 
convinced  of  its  fallacy.  When  I  discover  the  world  to  be  all 
that  it  has  been  represented  by  sneering  cynics  and  whining  poets, 
I  will  turn  to  and  abuse  it  also ;  in  the  meanwhile,  worthy  reader, 
I  hope  you  will  not  think  lightly  of  me,  because  I  cannot  believe 
this  to  be  so  very  bad  a  world  as  it  is  represented. 
Thine  truly, 

GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


THE  HALL. 

The  ancientcst  house,  and  the  best  for  housekeeping,  in  this  county  or  the  next ; 
and  though  the  master  of  it  write  but  squire,  I  know  no  lord  like  him. 

MEP.EY  BEGGAKS. 

THE  reader,  if  he  has  perused  the  volumes  of  the  Sketch-Book, 
will  probably  recollect  something  of  the  Bracebridge  family,  with 
which  I  once  passed  a  Christmas.  I  am  now  on  another  visit  at 
the  Hall,  having  been  invited  to  a  wedding  which  is  shortly  to 
take  place.  The  Squire's  second  son,  Guy,  a  fine,  spirited  young 
captain  in  the  army,  is  about  to  be  married  to  his  father's  ward, 
the  fair  Julia  Templeton.  A  gathering  of  relations  and  friends 
has  already  commenced,  to  celebrate  the  joyful  occasion ;  for  the 
old  gentleman  is  an  enemy  to  quiet,  private  weddings.  "  There 
is  nothing,"  he  says,  "  like  launching  a  young  couple  gayly,  and 
cheering  them  from  the  shore ;  a  good  outset  is  half  the  voyage." 

Before  proceeding  any  farther,  I  would  beg  that  the  Squire 
might  not  be  confounded  with  that  class  of  hard-riding,  fox-hunt 
ing  gentlemen,  so  often  described,  and,  in  fact,  so  nearly  extinct 
in  England.  I  use  this  rural  title  partly  because  it  is  his  univer 
sal  appellation  throughout  the  neighborhood,  and  partly  because  it 
saves  me  the  frequent  repetition  of  his  name,  which  is  one  of  those 
rough  old  English  names  at  which  Frenchmen  exclaim  in  despair. 

The  Squire  is,  in  fact,  a  lingering  specimen  of  the  old  English 


THE   HALL.  17 

country  gentleman  ;  rusticated  a  little  by  living  almost  entirely 
on  his  estate,  and  something  of  a  humorist,  as  Englishmen  are 
apt  to  become  when  they  have  an  opportunity  of  living  in  their 
own  way.  I  like  his  hobby  passing  well,  however,  which  is,  a 
bigoted  devotion  to  old  English  manners  and  customs  ;.it  jumps 
a  little  with  my  own  humor,  having  as  yet  a  lively  and  unsated 
curiosity  about  the  ancient  and  genuine  characteristics  of  my 
"  father  land." 

There  are  some  traits  about  the  Squire's  family,  also,  which 
appear  to  me  to  be  national.  It  is  one  of  those  old  aristocratic  al 
families,  which,  I  believe,  are  peculiar  to  England,  and  scarcely 
understood  in  other  countries ;  that  is  to  say,  families  of  the 
ancient  gentry,  who,  though  destitute  of  titled  rank,  maintain  a 
high  ancestral  pride :  who  look  down  upon  all  nobility  of  recent 
creation,  and  would  consider  it  a  sacrifice  of  dignity  to  merge 
the  venerable  name  of  their  house  in  a  modern  title. 

This  feeling  is  very  much  fostered  by  the  importance  which 
they  enjoy  on  their  hereditary  domains.  The  family  mansion  is 
an  old  manor-house,  standing  in  a  retired  and  beautiful  part  of 
Yorkshire.  Its  inhabitants  have  been  always  regarded,  through 
the  surrounding  country,  as  "  the  great  ones  of  the  earth ; "  and 
the  little  village  near  the  Hall  looks  up  to  the  Squire  with  almost 
feudal  homage.  An  old  manor-house,  and  an  old  family  of  this 
kind,  are  rarely  to  be  met  with  at  the  present  day ;  and  it  is 
probably  the  peculiar  humor  of  the  Squire  that  has  retained  this 
secluded  specimen  of  English  housekeeping  in  something  like  the 
genuine  old  style. 

I  am  again  quartered  in  the  panelled  chamber,  in  the  antique 
wing  of  the  house.  The  prospect  from  my  window,  however,  has 
quite  a  different  aspect  from  that  which  it  wore  on  my  winter 


18  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

visit.  Though  early  in  the  month  of  April,  yet  a  few  warm, 
sunshiny  days  have  drawn  forth  the  beauties  of  the  spring,  which, 
I  think,  are  always  most  captivating  on  their  first  opening. 
The  parterres  of  the  old-fashioned  garden  are  gay  with  flowers ; 
and  the__gardener  has  brought  out  his  exotics,  and  placed  them 
along  the  stone  balustrades.  The  trees  are  clothed  with  green 
buds  and  tender  leaves.  When  I  throw  open  my  jingling  case 
ment,  I  smell  the  odor  of  mignonette,  and  hear  the  hum  of  the 
bees  from  the  flowers  against  the  sunny  wall,  with  the  varied 
song  of  the  throstle,  and  the  cheerful  notes  of  the  tuneful  little 
wren. 

While  sojourning  in  this  stronghold  of  old  fashions,  it  is  my 
intention  to  make  occasional  sketches  of  the  scenes  and  characters 
before  me.  I  would  have  it  understood,  however,  that  I  am  not 
writing  a  novel,  and  have  nothing  of  intricate  plot  nor  marvellous 
adventure  to  promise  the  reader.  The  Hall  of  which  I  treat  has, 
for  aught  I  know,  neither  trap-door,  nor  sliding-panel,  nor  donjon- 
keep  ;  and  indeed  appears  to  have  no  mystery  about  it.  The 
family  is  a  worthy,  well-meaning  family,  that,  in  all  probability,, 
will  eat  and  drink,  and  go  to  bed,  and  get  up  regularly,  from  one 
end  of  my  work  to  the  other ;  and  the  Squire  is  so  kind-hearted, 
that  I  see  no  likelihood  of  his  throwing  any  kind  of  distress  in 
the  way  of  the  approaching  nuptials.  In  a  word,  I  cannot  fore 
see  a  single  extraordinary  event  that  is  likely  to  occur  in  the 
whole  term  of  my  sojourn  at  the  Hall. 

I  tell  this  honestly  to  the  reader,  lest,  when  he  finds  me  dal 
lying  along,  through  every-day  English  scenes,  he  may  hurry 
ahead,  in  hopes  of  meeting  with  some  marvellous  adventure  fur 
ther  on.  I  invite  him,  on  the  contrary,  to  ramble  gently  on  with 
me,  as  he  would  saunter  out  into  the  fields,  stopping  occasionally 


THE   HALL. 


19 


to  gather  a  flower,  or  listen  to  a  bird,  or  admire  a  prospect,  with 
out  any  anxiety  to  arrive  at  the  end  of  his  career.  Should  I, 
however,  in  the  course  of  my  wanderings,  about  this  old  mansion, 
see  or  hear  any  thing  curious,  that  might  serve  to  vary  the  mono 
tony  of  this  every-day  life,  I  shall  not  fail  to  report  it  for  the 
reader's  entertainment : 

For  freshest  wits  I  know  will  soon  be  wearie, 
Of  any  book,  how  grave  soe'er  it  be, 
Except  it  have  odd  matter,  strange  and  merrie, 
Well  sauc'd  with  lies,  and  glared  all  with  glee.* 

*  Mirror  for  Magistrates. 


' 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 

A  decayed  gentleman,  who  lives  most  upon  his  own  mirth  and  my  master's  means, 
and  much  good  do  him  with  it  He  does  hold  my  master  up  with  his  stories,  and 
songs,  and  catches,  and  such  tricks  and  jigs,  you  would  admire — he  is  with  him  now. 

JOVIAL  CKEW. 

By  no  one  has  my  return  to  the  Hall  been  more  heartily  greeted 
than  by  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge,  or  Master  Simon,  as  the  Squire 
most  commonly  calls  him.  I  encountered  him  just  as  I  entered 
the  park,  where  he  was  breaking  a  pointer,  and  he  received  me 
with  all  the  hospitable  cordiality  with  which  a  man  welcomes  a 
friend  to  another  one's  house.  I  have  already  introduced  him  to 
the  reader  as  a  brisk  old  bachelor-looking  little  man  ;  the  wit  and 
superannuated  beau  of  a  large  family  connection,  and  the  Squire's 
factotum.  I  found  him,  as  usual,  full  of  bustle  ;  with  a  thousand 
petty  things  to  do,  and  persons  to  attend  to,  and  in  chirping 
good-humor ;  for  there  are  few  happier  beings  than  a  busy  idler ; 
that  is  to  say,  a  man  who  is  eternally  busy  about  nothing. 

I  visited  him,  the  morning  after  my  arrival,  in  his  chamber, 
which  is  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  mansion,  as  he  says  he  likes 
to  be  to  himself,  and  out  of  the  way.  He  has  fitted  it  up  in  his 
own  taste,  so  that  it  is  a  perfect  epitome  of  an  old  bachelor's  no 
tions  of  convenience  and  arrangement.  The  furniture  is  made 
up  of  odd  pieces  from  all  parts  of  the  house,  chosen  on  account 


(P.  22.) 


' 


THE    BUSY   MAN.  21 

of  their  suiting  his  notions,  or  fitting  some  corner  of  his  apart 
ment  ;  and  he  is  very  eloquent  in  praise  of  an  ancient  elbow- 
chair,  from  which  he  takes  occasion  to  digress  into  a  censure  on 
modern  chairs,  as  having  degenerated  from  the  dignity  and  com 
fort  of  high-backed  antiquity. 

Adjoining  to  his  room  is  a  small  cabinet,  which  he  calls  his 
study.  Here  are  some  hanging  shelves,  of  his  own  construction, 
on  which  are  several  old  works  on  hawking,  hunting,  and  far 
riery,  and  a  collection  or  two  of  poems  and  songs  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  which  he  studies  out  of  compliment  to  the  Squire; 
together  with  the  Novelist's  Magazine,  the  Sporting  Magazine, 
the  Kacing  Calendar,  a  volume  or  two  of  the  Newgate  Calendar, 
a  book  of  peerage,  and  another  of  heraldry. 

His  sporting  dresses  hang  on  pegs  in  a  small  closet ;  and 
about  the  Avails  of  his  apartment  are  hooks  to  hold  his  fishing- 
tackle,  whips,  spurs,  and  a  favorite  fowling-piece,  curiously  wrought 
and  inlaid,  which  he  inherits  from  his  grandfather.  He  has, 
also,  a  couple  of  old  single-keyed  flutes,  and  a  fiddle  which  he 
has  repeatedly  patched  and  mended  himself,  affirming  it  to  be  a 
veritable  Cremona ;  though  I  have  never  heard  him  extract  a 
single  note  from  it  that  was  not  enough  to  make  one's  blood  run 
cold. 

From  this  little  nest  his  fiddle  will  often  be  heard,  in  the  still 
ness  of  mid-day,  drowsily  sawing  some  long-forgotten  tune ;  for 
he  prides  himself  on  having  a  choice  collection  of  good  old  Eng 
lish  music,  and  will  scarcely  have  any  thing  to  do  with  modern 
composers.  The  time,  however,  at  which  his  musical  powers  are 
of  most  use,  is  now  and  then  of  an  evening,  when  he  plays  for 
the  children  to  dance  in  the  hall,  and  he  passes  among  them  and 
the  servants  for  a  perfect  Orpheus. 


22  BRACEBRIDGE    1IAIJ  . 

His  chamber  also  bears  evidence  of  his  various  avocations : 
there  are  half-copied  sheets  of  music ;  designs  for  needle-work ; 
sketches  of  landscapes,  very  indifferently  executed;  a  camera 
lucida ;  a  magic  lantern,  for  which  he  is  endeavoring  to  paint 
glasses ;  in  a  word,  it  is  the  cabinet  of  a  man  of  many  accom 
plishments,  who  knows  a  little  of  every  thing,  and  does  nothing 
well. 

After  I  had  spent  some  time  in  his  apartment,  admiring  the 
ingenuity  of  his  small  inventions,  he  took  me  about  the  establish 
ment,  to  visit  the  stables,  dog-kennel,  and  other  dependencies,  in 
which  he  appeared  like  a  general  visiting  the  different  quarters  of 
his  camp ;  as  the  Squire  leaves  the  control  of  all  these  matters  to 
him,  when  he  is  at  the  Hall.  He  inquired  into  the  state  of  the 
horses ;  examined  their  feet ;  prescribed  a  drench  for  one,  and 
bleeding  for  another ;  and  then  took  me  to  look  at  his  own  horse, 
on  the  merits  of  which  he  dwelt  with  great  prolixity,  and  which, 
I  noticed,  had  the  best  stall  in  the  stable. 

After  this  I  was  taken  to  a  new  toy  of  his  and  the  Squire's, 
which  he  termed  the  falconry,  where  there  were  several  unhappy 
birds  in  durance,  completing  their  education.  Among  the  num 
ber  was  a  fine  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  had  in  especial  train 
ing,  and  he  told  me  that  he  would  show  me,  in  a  few  days,  some 
rare  sport  of  the  good  old-fashioned  kind.  In  the  course  of  our 
round,  I  noticed  that  the  grooms,  gamekeeper,  whippers-in,  and 
other  retainers,  seemed  all  to  be  on  somewhat  of  a  familiar  foot 
ing  with  Master  Simon,  and  fond  of  having  a  joke  with  him, 
though  it  was  evident  they  had  great  deference  for  his  opinion  in 
matters  relating  to  their  functions. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  in  a  testy  old  huntsman, 
as  hot  as  a  pepper-corn ;  a  meagre,  wiry  old  fellow,  in  a  thread- 


THE    BUSY  MAN.  23 

bare  velvet  jockey-cap,  and  a  pair  of  leather  breeches,  that,  from 
much  wear,  shone  as  though  they  had  been  japanned.  He  was 
very  contradictory  and  pragmatical,  and  apt,  as  I  thought,  to  dif 
fer  from  Master  Simon  now  and  then,  out  of  mere  captiousness. 
This  was  particularly  the  case  with  respect  to  the  treatment  of 
the  hawk,  which  the  old  man  seemed  to  have  under  his  peculiar 
care,  and,  according  to  Master  Simon,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  ruin : 
the  latter  had  a  vast  deal  to  say  about  casting,  and  imping,  and 
gleaming,  and  enseaming,  and  giving  the  hawk  the  rangle,  which  I 
saw  was  all  heathen  Gr£ek  to  old  Christy ;  but  he  maintained  his 
point  notwithstanding,  and  seemed  to  hold  all  this  technical  lore 
in  utter  disrespect. 

I  was  surprised  at  the  good  humor  with  which  Master  Simon 
bore  his  contradictions,  till  he  explained  the  matter  to  me  after 
wards.  Old  Christy  is  the  most  ancient  servant  in  the  place,  hav 
ing  lived  among  dogs  and  horses  the  greater  part  of  a  century, 
and  been  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Bracebridge's  father.  He  knows 
the  pedigree  of  every  horse  on  the  place,  and  has  bestrode  the 
great-great  grandsires  of  most  of  them.  He  can  give  a  circum 
stantial  detail  of  every  fox-hunt  for  the  last  sixty  or  seventy 
years,  and  has  a  history  for  every  stag's  head  about  the  house, 
and  every  hunting  trophy  nailed  to  the  door  of  the  dog-kennel. 

All  the  present  race  have  grown  up  under  his  eye,  and  humor 
him  in  his  old  age.  He  once  attended  the  Squire  to  Oxford,  when 
he  was  student  there,  and  enlightened  the  whole  university  with 
his  hunting  lore.  All  this  is  enough  to  make  the  old  man  opin 
ionated,  since  he  finds,  on  all  these  matters  of  first-rate  impor 
tance,  he  knows  more  than  the  rest  of  the  world.  Indeed,  Master 
Simon  had  been  his  pupil,  and  acknowledges  that  he  derived  his 
first  knowledge  in  hunting  from  the  instructions  of  Christy ;  and 


24  BEACEBEIDGE   HALT.. 

I  much  question  whether  the  old  man  does  not  still  look  upon 
him  as  rather  a  greenhorn. 

On  our  return  homewards,  as  we  were  crossing  the  lawn  in 
front  of  the  house,  we  heard  the  porter's  bell  ring  at  the  lodge, 
and  shortly  afterwards,  a  kind  of  cavalcade  advanced  slowly  up 
the  avenue.  At  sight  of  it  my  companion  paused,  considered  it. 
for  a  moment,  and  then,  making  a  sudden  exclamation,  hurried 
away  to  meet  it.  As  it  approached  I  discovered  a  fair,  fresh- 
looking  elderly  lady,  dressed  in  an  old-fashioned  riding-habit, 
with  a  broad-brimmed  white  beaver  hat,  'such  as  may  be  seen  in 
Sir  Joshua  Eeynolds'  paintings.  She  rode  a  sleek  white  pony, 
and  was  followed  by  a  footman  in  rich  livery,  mounted  on  an 
over-fed  hunter.  At  a  little  distance  in  the  rear  came  an  ancient 
cumbrous  chariot  drawn  by  two  very  corpulent  horses,  driven  by 
as  corpulent  a  coachman,  beside  whom  sat  a  page  dressed  in  a 
fanciful  green  livery.  Inside  of  the  chariot  was  a  starched  prim 
personage,  with  a  look  somewhat  between  a  lady's  companion, 
and  a  lady's  maid,  and  two  pampered  curs,  that  showed  their  ugly 
faces,  and  barked  out  of  each  window. 

There  was  a  general  turning  out  of  the  garrison  to  receive  tms 
new-comer.  The  Squire  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  saluted  her 
affectionately ;  the  fair  Julia  flew  into  her  arms,  and  they  em 
braced  with  the  romantic  fervor  of  boarding-school  friends :  she 
was  escorted  into  the  house  by  Julia's  lover,  towards  whom  she 
showed  distinguished  favor ;  and  a  line  of  the  old  servants,  who 
had  collected  in  the  Hall,  bowed  most  profoundly  as  she  passed. 

I  observed  that  Master  Simon  was  most  assiduous  and  devout 
in  his  attentions  upon  this  old  lady.  He  walked  by  the  side  of  her 
pony  up  the  avenue ;  and,  while  she  was  receiving  the  salutations 
of  the  rest  of  the  family,  he  took  occasion  to  notice  the  fat  coach- 


THE    BUSY   MAN. 


25 


man  ;  to  pat  the  sleek  carriage  horses,  and,  above  all,  to  say  a 
civil  word  to  my  lady's  gentlewoman,  the  prim,  sour-looking  ves 
tal  in  the  chariot. 

I  had  no  more  of  his  company  for  the  rest  of  the  morning. 
He  was  swept  off  in  the  vortex  that  followed  in  the  wake  of  this 
lady.  Once  indeed  he  paused  for  a  moment,  as  he  was  hurrying 
on  some  errand  of  the  good  lady's,  to  let  me  know  that  this  was 
Lady  Lillycraft,  a  sister  of  the  Squire's,  of  large  fortune,  which 
the  captain  would  inherit,  and  that  her  estate  lay  in  one  of  the 
best  sporting  counties  in  all  England. 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 

Verily  old  sen  ants  are  the  vouchers  of  worthy  housekeeping.     They  are  like  rats 
in  a  mansion,  or  mites  in  a  cheese,  bespeaking  the  antiquity  and  fatness  of  their  abode. 

IN  my  casual  anecdotes  of  the  Hall,  I  may  often  be  tempted  to 
dwell  upon  circumstances  of  a  trite  and  ordinary  nature,  from 
their  appearing  to  me  illustrative  of  genuine  national  character. 
It  seems  to  me  to  be  the  study  of  the  Squire  to  adhere,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  what  he  considers  the  old  landmarks  of  English 
manners.  His  servants  all  understand  his  ways,  and  for  the 
most  part  have  been  accustomed  to  them  from  infancy ;  so  that, 
upon  the  whole,  his  household  presents  one  of  the  few  tolerable 
specimens  that  can  now  be  met  with,  of  the  establishment  of  an 
English  country  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 

By  the  by,  the  servants  are  not  the  least  characteristic  part 
of  the  household:  the  housekeeper,  for  instance,  has  been  born 
and  brought  up  at  the  Hall,  and  has  never  been  twenty  miles 
from  it ;  yet  she  has  a  stately  air  that  would  not  disgrace  a  lady 
that  had  figured  at  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

I  am  half  inclined  to  think  she  has  caught  it  from  living  so 
much  among  the  old  family  pictures.  It  may,  however,  be  owing 
to  a  consciousness  of  her  importance  in  the  sphere  in  which  she 
has  always  moved ;  for  she  is  greatly  respected  in  the  neighbor- 


FAMILY   SERVANTS.  27 

ing  village,  and  among  the  farmers'  wives,  and  has  high  author 
ity  in  the  household,  ruling  over  the  servants  with  quiet  but  un 
disputed  sway. 

She  is  a  thin  old  lady,  with  blue  eyes  and  pointed  nose  and 
chin.  Her  dress  is  always  the  same  as  to  fashion.  She  wears  a 
small,  well-starched  ruff,  a  laced  stomacher,  full  petticoats,  and  a 
gown  festooned  and  open  in  front,  which,  on  particular  occasions, 
is  of  ancient  silk,  the  legacy  of  some  former  dame  of  the  family, 
or  an  inheritance  from  her  mother,  who  was  housekeeper  before 
her.  I  have  a  reverence  for  these  old  garments,  as  I  make  no 
doubt  they  have  figured  about  these  apartments  in  days  long 
past,  when  they  have  set  off  the  charms  of  some  peerless  family 
beauty ;  and  I  have  sometimes  looked  from  the  old  housekeeper 
to  the  neighboring  portraits,  to  see  whether  I  could  not  recognize 
her  antiquated  brocade  in  the  dress  of  some  one  of  those  long- 
waisted  dames  that  smile  on  me  from  the  walls. 

Her  hair,  which  is  quite  white,  is  frizzed  out  in  front,  and  she 
wears  over  it  a  small  cap,  nicely  plaited,  and  brought  down  under 
the  chin.  Her  manners  are  simple  and  primitive,  heightened  a 
little  by  a  proper  dignity  of  station. 

The  Hall  is  her  world,  and  the  history  of  the  family  the  only 
history  she  knows,  excepting  that  which  she  has  read  in  the 
Bible.  She  can  give  a  biography  of  every  portrait  in  the  picture 
gallery,  and  is  a  complete  family  chronicle. 

She  is  treated  with  great  consideration  by  the  Squire.  In 
deed,  Master  Simon  tells  me  that  there  is  a  traditional  anecdote 
current  among  the  servants,  of  the  Squire's  having  been  seen 
kissing  her  in  the  picture  gallery,  when  they  were  both  young. 
As,  however,  nothing  further  was  ever  noticed  between  them,  the 
circumstance  caused  no  great  scandal ;  only  she  was  observed  to 


28  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

take  to  reading  Pamela  shortly  afterwards,  and  refused  the  hand 
of  the  village  innkeeper,  whom  she  had  previously  smiled  on. 

The  old  butler,  who  was  formerly  footman,  and  a  rejected 
admirer  of  hers,  used  to  tell  the  anecdote  now  and  then,  at  those 
little  cabals  which  will  occasionally  take  place  among  the  most 
orderly  servants,  arising  from  the  common  propensity  of  the  gov 
erned  to  talk  against  administration ;  but  he  has  left  it  off,  of 
late  years,  since  he  has  risen  into  place,  and  shakes  his  head  re- 
bukingly  when  it  is  mentioned. 

It  is  certain  that  the  old  lady  will,  to  this  day,  dwell  upon 
the  looks  of  the  Squire  when  he  was  a  young  man  at  college ; 
and  she  maintains  that  none  of  his  sons  can  compare  with  their 
father  when  he  was  of  their  age,  and  was  dressed  out  in  his  full 
suit  of  scarlet,  with  his  hair  craped  and  powdered,  and  his  three- 
cornered  hat. 

She  has  an  orphan  niece,  a  pretty,  soft-hearted  baggage, 
named  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  has  been  transplanted  to  the  Hall 
within  a  year  or  two,  and  been  nearly  spoiled  for  any  condition 
of  life.  She  is  a  kind  of  attendant  and  companion  of  the  fair 
Julia's ;  and  from  loitering  about  the  young  lady's  apartments, 
reading  scraps  of  novels,  and  inheriting  second-hand  finery,  has 
become  something  between  a  waiting-maid  and  a  slipshod  fine 
lady. 

She  is  considered  a  kind  of  heiress  among  the  servants,  as 
she  will  inherit  all  her  aunt's  property ;  which,  if  report  be  true, 
must  be  a  round  sum  of  good  golden  guineas,  the  accumulated 
wealth  of  two  housekeepers'  savings;  not  to  mention  the  heredi 
tary  wardrobe,  and  the  many  little  valuables  and  knick-knacks 
treasured  up  in  the  housekeepers'  room.  Indeed,  the  old  house 
keeper  has  the  reputation  among  the  servants  and  the  villagers 


FAMILY    SERVANTS.  29 

of  being  passing  rich ;  and  there  is  a  japanned  chest  of  drawers 
and  a  large  iron-bound  coffer  in  her  room  which  are  supposed,  by 
the  housemaids,  to  hold  treasures  of  wealth. 

The  old  lady  is  a  great  friend  of  Master  Simon,  Avho,  indeed, 
pays  a  little  court  to  her,  as  to  a  person  high  in  authority ;  and 
they  have  many  discussions  on  points  of  family  history,  in  which, 
notwithstanding  his  extensive  information,  and  pride  of  know 
ledge,  he  commonly  admits  her  superior  accuracy.  He  seldom 
returns  to  the  Hall,  after  one  of  his  visits  to  the  other  branches 
of  the  family,  without  bringing  Mrs.  Wilkins  some  remembrance 
from  the  ladies  of  the  house  where  he  has  been  staying. 

Indeed,  all  the  children  of  the  house  look  up  to  the  old  lady 
with  habitual  respect  and  attachment,  and  she  seems  almost  to 
consider  them  as  her  own,  from  their  having  grown  up  under  her 
eye.  The  Oxonian,  however,  is  her  favorite,  probably  from  being 
the  youngest,  though  he  is  the  most  mischievous,  and  has  been 
apt  to  play  tricks  upon  her  from  boyhood. 

I  cannot  help  mentioning  one  little  ceremony,  which,  I  be 
lieve,  is  peculiar  to  the  Hall.  After  the  cloth  is  removed  at  din 
ner,  the  old  housekeeper  sails  into  the  room,  and  stands  behind 
the  Squire's  chair,  when  he  fills  her  a  glass  of  wine  with  his  own 
hands,  in  which  she  drinks  the  health  of  the  company  in  a  truly 
respectful  yet  dignified  manner,  and  then  retires.  The  Squire 
received  the  custom  from  his  father,  and  has  always  continued  it. 

There  is  a  peculiar  character  about  the  servants  of  old  Eng 
lish  families,  that  reside  principally  in  the  country.  They  have 
a  quiet,  orderly,  respectful  mode  of  doing  their  duties.  They  are 
always  neat  in  their  persons,  and  appropriately,  and,  if  I  may  use 
the  phrase,  technically  dressed ;  they  move  about  the  house  with 
out  hurry  or  noise ;  there  is  nothing  of  the  bustle  of  employment, 


30  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

or  the  voice  of  command ;  nothing  of  that  obtrusive  housewifery 
which  amounts  to  a  torment.  You  are  not  persecuted  by  the  pro 
cess  of  making  you  comfortable ;  yet  every  thing  is  done,  and  is 
done  well.  The  work  of  the  house  is  performed  as  if  by  magic, 
but  it  is  the  magic  of  system.  Nothing  is  done  by  fits  and  starts, 
nor  at  awkward  seasons ;  the  whole  goes  on  like  well-oiled  clock 
work,  where  there  is  no  noise  nor  jarring  in  its  operations. 

English  servants,  in  general,  are  not  treated  with  great  in 
dulgence,  nor  rewarded  by  many  commendations ;  for  the  Eng 
lish  are  laconic  and  reserved  toward  their  domestics;  but  an 
approving  nod  and  a  kind  word  from  master  or  mistress  goes  as 
far  here,  as  an  excess  of  praise  or  indulgence  elsewhere.  Neither 
do  servants  often  exhibit  any  animated  marks  of  affection  to  their 
employers ;  yet,  though  quiet,  they  are  strong  in  their  attach 
ments  ;  and  the  reciprocal  regard  of  masters  and  servants,  though 
not  ardently  expressed,  is  powerful  and  lasting  in  old  English 
families. 

The  title  of  "  an  old  family  servant "  carries  with  it  a  thou 
sand  kind  associations,  in  all  parts  of  the  world ;  and  there  is  no 
claim  upon  the  homebred  charities  of  the  heart  more  irresistible 
than  that  of  having  been  "  born  in  the  house."  .  It  is  common  to 
see  gray-headed  domestics  of  this  kind  attached  to  an  English 
family  of  the  "  old  school,"  who  continue  in  it  to  the  day  of  their 
death,  in  the  enjoyment  of  steady,  unaffected  kindness,  and  the 
performance  of  faithful,  unofficious  duty.  I  think  such  instances 
of  attachment  speak  well  for  both  master  and  servant,  and  the 
frequency  of  them  speaks  well  for  national  character. 

These  observations,  however,  hold  good  only  with  families  of 
the  description  I  have  mentioned ;  and  with  such  as  are  somewhat 
retired,  and  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  tune  in  the  country. 


FAMILY   SERVANTS.  31 

As  to  the  powdered  menials  that  throng  the  halls  of  fashionable 
town  residences,  they  equally  reflect  the  character  of  the  estab 
lishments  to  which  they  belong ;  and  I  know  no  more  complete 
epitome  of  dissolute  heartlessness.  and  pampered  inutility. 

But  the  good  "  old  family  servant " — the  one  who  has  always 
been  linked,  in  idea,  with  the  home  of  our  heart ;  who  has  led  us 
to  school  in  the  days  of  prattling  childhood ;  Avho  has  been  the 
confidant  of  our  boyish  cares,  and  schemes,  and  enterprises ;  who 
has  hailed  us  as  we  came  home  at  vacations,  and  been  the  promo 
ter  of  all  our  holiday  sports ;  who,  when  we,  in  wandering  man 
hood,  have  left  the  paternal  roof,  and  only  return  thither  at  in 
tervals,  will  welcome  us  with  a  joy  inferior  only  to  that  of  our 
parents ;  who.  now  grown  gray  and  infirm  with  age,  still  totters 
about  the  house  of  our  fathers,  in  fond  and  faithful  servitude ; 
who  claims  us,  in  a  manner,  as  his  own ;  and  hastens  with  queru 
lous  eagerness  to  anticipate  his  fellow-domestics  in  waiting  upon 
us  at  table ;  and  who,  when  we  retire  at  night  to  the  chamber 
that  still  goes  by  our  name,  will  linger  about  the  room  to  have 
one  more  kind  look,  and  one  more  pleasant  word  about  times  that 
are  past — who  does  not  experience  towards  such  a  being  a  feeling 
of  almost  filial  affection  ? 

I  have  met  with  several  instances  of  epitaphs  on  the  grave 
stones  of  such  valuable  domestics,  recorded  with  the  simple  truth 
of  natural  feeling.  I  have  two  before  me  at  this  moment ;  one 
copied  from  a  tombstone  of  a  church  in  Warwickshire : 

"  Here  lieth  the  body  of  Joseph  Batte,  confidential  servant  to 
George  Birch,  Esq.,  of  Hamstead  Hall.  His  grateful  friend  and 
master  caused  this  inscription  to  be  written  in  memory  of  his  dis 
cretion,  fidelity,  diligence,  and  continence.  He  died  (a  bachelor); 
aged  84,  having  lived  44  years  in  the  same  family." 


32  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

The  other  was  taken  from  a  tombstone  in  Eltham  church 
yard : 

"  Here  lie  the  remains  of  Mr.  James  Tappy,  who  departed 
this  life  on  the  8th  of  September,  1818,  aged  84,  after  a  faithful 
service  of  60  years  in  one  family ;  by  each  individual  of  which 
he  lived  respected,  and  died  lamented  by  the  sole  survivor." 

Few  monuments,  even  of  the  illustrious,  have  given  me  the 
glow  about  the  heart  that  I  felt  while  copying  this  honest  epitaph 
in  the  church-yard  of  Eltham.  I  sympathized  with  this  "  sole 
survivor  "  of  a  family  mourning  over  the  grave  of  the  faithful 
follower  of  his  race,  who  had  been,  no  doubt,  a  living  memento 
of  times  and  friends  that  had  passed  away ;  and  in  considering 
this  record  of  long  and  devoted  service,  I  call  to  mind  the  touch 
ing  speech  of  Old  Adam,  in  "  As  You  Like  It,"  when  tottering 
after  the  youthful  son  of  his  ancient  master : 

"  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  love  and  loyalty." 


NOTE. — I  cannot  but  mention  a  tablet  which  I  have  seen  somewhere  in  the 
chapel  of  Windsor  Castle,  put  up  by  the  late  king  to  the  memory  of  a  family 
servant,  who  had  been  a  faithful  attendant  of  his  lamented  daughter,  the  Princess 
Amelia.  George  III.  possessed  much  of  the  strong,  domestic  feeling  of  the  old 
English  country  gentleman ;  and  it  is  an  incident  curious  in  monumental  history, 
and  creditable  to  the  human  heart,  a  monarch  erecting  a  monument  in  honor  of 
the  humble  virtues  of  a  menial. 


THE  WIDOW. 


She  was  so  charitable  and  pitious 
She  would  weep  if  that  she  saw  a  mous 
Caught  in  a  trap,  if  it  were  dead  or  bled: 
Of  small  hounds  had  she,  that  she  fed 
With  rost  flesh,  milke,  and  wastel  bread, 
But  sore  wept  she  if  any  of  them  were  dead, 
Or  if  man  smote  them  with  a  yard  smart. 

CHAPCER. 


NOTWITHSTANDING  the  whimsical  parade  made  by  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  on  her  arrival,  she  has  none  of  the  petty  stateliness  that  I 
had  imagined ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  degree  of  nature,  and 
simple  heartedness,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  that  mingles  well 
with  her  old-fashioned  manners  and  harmless  ostentation.  She 
dresses  in  rich  silks,  with  long  waist ;  she  rouges  considerably, 
and  her  hair,  which  is  nearly  white,  is  frizzed  out,  and  put  up 
with  pins.  Her  face  is  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  but  the  deli 
cacy  of  her  features  shows  that  she  may  once  have  been  beauti 
ful  ;  and  she  has  a  very  fair  and  well-shaped  hand  and  arm,  of 
which,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  good  lady  is  still  a  little  vain. 

I  have  had  the  curiosity  to  gather  a  few  particulars  concern 
ing  her.     She  was  a  great  belle  in  town  between  thirty  and  forty 
years  since,  and  reigned  for  two  seasons  with  all  the  insolence  of 
2* 


34  BRACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

beauty,  refusing  several  excellent  offers ;  when,  unfortunately,  she 
was  robbed  of  her  charms  and  her  lovers  by  an  attack  of  the 
small-pox.  She  retired  immediately  into  the  country,  where  she 
some  time  after  inherited  an  estate,  and  married  a  baronet,  a  for 
mer  admirer,  whose  passion  had  suddenly  revived ;  "  having,"  as 
he  said,  "  always  loved  her  mind  rather  than  her  person." 

The  baronet  did  not  enjoy  her  mind  and  fortune  above  six 
months,  and  had  scarcely  grown  very  tired  of  her,  when  he  broke 
his  neck  in  a  fox-chase,  and  left  her  free,  rich,  and  disconsolate. 
She  has  remained  on  her  estate  in  the  country  ever  since,  and 
has  never  shown  any  desire  to  return  to  town,  and  revisit  the 
scene  of  her  early  triumphs  and  fatal  malady.  All  her  favorite 
recollections,  however,  revert  to  that  short  period  of  her  youthful 
beauty.  She  has  no  idea  of  town  but  as  it  was  at  that  time :  and 
continually  forgets  that  the  place  and  people  must  have  changed 
materially  in  the  course  of  nearly  half  a  century.  She  will  often 
speak  of  the  toasts  of  those  days  as  if  still  reigning ;  and,  until 
very  recently,  used  to  talk  with  delight  of  the  royal  family,  and 
the  beauty  of  the  young  princes  and  princesses.  She  cannot  be 
brought  to  think  of  the  present  king  otherwise  than  as  an  elegant 
young  man,  rather  wild,  but  who  danced  a  minuet  divinely ;  and 
before  he  came  to  the  crown,  would  often  mention  him  as  the 
"  sweet  young  prince." 

She  talks  also  of  the  walks  in  Kensington  Garden,  where  the 
gentlemen  appeared  in  gold-laced  coats  and  cocked  hats,  and  the 
ladies  in  hoops,  and  swept  so  proudly  along  the  grassy  avenues ; 
and  she  thinks  the  ladies  let  themselves  sadly  down  in  their  dig 
nity,  when  they  gave  up  cushioned  head-dresses,  and  high-heeled 
shoes.  She  has  much  to  say  too  of  the  officers  who  were  in  the 
train  of  her  admirers  ;  and  speaks  familiarly  of  many  wild  young 


THE   WIDOW.  35 

blades,  who  are  now,  perhaps,  hobbling  about  watering-places 
with  crutches  and  gouty  shoes. 

Whether  the  taste  the  good  lady  had  of  matrimony  discour 
aged  her  or  not,  I  cannot  say ;  but  though  her  merits  and  her 
riches  have  attracted  many  suitors,  she  has  never  been  tempted 
to  venture  again  into  the  happy  state.  This  is  singular,  too,  for 
she  seems  of  a  most  soft  and  susceptible  heart ;  is  always  talking 
of  love  and  connubial  felicity,  and  is  a  great  stickler  for  old-fash 
ioned  gallantry,  devoted  attentions,  and  eternal  constancy,  on  the 
part  of  the  gentlemen.  She  lives,  however,  after  her  own  taste. 
Her  house,  I  am  told,  must  have  been  built  and  furnished  about 
the  time  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison  :  every  thing  about  it  is  some 
what  formal  and  stately ;  but  has  been  softened  down  into  a  de 
gree  of  voluptuousness,  characteristic  of  an  old  lady,  very  tender 
hearted  and  romantic,  and  who  loves  her  ease.  The  cushions  of 
the  great  arm-chairs,  and  wide  sofas,  almost  bury  you  when  you 
sit  down  on  them.  Flowers  of  the  most  rare  and  delicate  kind 
are  placed  about  the  rooms  and  on  little  japanned  stands ;  and 
sweet  bags  lie  about  the  tables  and  mantelpieces.  The  house  is 
full  of  pet  dogs,  Angola  cats,  and  singing  birds,  who  are  as  care 
fully  waited  upon  as  she  is  herself. 

She  is  dainty  in  her  living,  and  a  little  of  an  epicure,  living 
on  white  meats,  and  little  ladylike  dishes,  though  her  servants 
have  substantial  old  English  fare,  as  their  looks  bear  witness. 
Indeed,  they  are  so  indulged,  that  they  are  all  spoiled ;  and  Avhen 
they  lose  their  present  place,  they  will  be  fit  for  no  other.  Her 
ladyship  is  one  of  those  easy-tempered  beings,  that  are  always 
doomed  to  be  much  liked,  but  ill  served  by  their  domestics,  and 
cheated  by  all  the  world. 

Much  of  her  time  is  passed  in  reading  novels,  of  which  she 


36  BRACEBEIDGE  HALL. 

has  a  most  extensive  library,  and  a  constant  supply  from  the 
publishers  in  town.  Her  erudition  in  this  line  of  literature  is 
immense ;  she  has  kept  pace  with  the  press  for  half  a  century. 
Her  mind  is  stuffed  with  love-tales  of  all  kinds,  from  the  stately 
amours  of  the  old  books  of  chivalry,  down  to  the  last  blue-covered 
romance,  reeking  from  the  press ;  though  she  evidently  gives  the 
preference  to  those  that  came  out  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  and 
when  she  was  first  in  love.  She  maintains  that  there  are  no 
novels  written  now-a-days  equal  to  Pamela  and  Sir  Charles 
Grandison ;  and  she  places  the  Castle  of  Otranto  at  the  head  of 
all  romances. 

She  does  a  vast  deal  of  good  in  her  neighborhood,  and  is  im 
posed  upon  by  every  beggar  in  the  county.  She  is  the  benefac 
tress  of  a  village  adjoining  her  estate,  and  takes  an  especial 
interest  in  all  its  love  affairs.  She  knows  of  every  courtship  that 
is  going  on ;  every  lovelorn  damsel  is  sure  to  find  a  patient  lis 
tener  and  a  sage  adviser  in  her  ladyship.  She  takes  great  pains 
to  reconcile  all  love-quarrels,  and  should  any  faithless  swain  per 
sist  in  his  inconstancy,  he  is  sure  to  draw  on  himself  the  good 
lady's  violent  indignation. 

I  have  learned  these  particulars  partly  from  Frank  Brace- 
bridge,  and  partly  from  Master  Simon.  I  am  now  able  to  account 
for  the  assiduous  attention  of  the  latter  to  her  ladyship.  Her 
house  is  one  of  his  favorite  resorts,  where  he  is  a  very  important 
personage.  He  makes  her  a  visit  of  business  once  a  year,  when 
he  looks  into  all  her  affairs ;  which,  as  she  is  no  manager,  are  apt 
to  get  into  confusion.  He  examines  the  books  of  the  overseer, 
and  shoots  about  the  estate,  which,  he  says,  is  well  stocked  with 
game,  notwithstanding  that  it  is  poached  by  all  the  vagabonds  in 
the  neighborhood. 


THE   WIDOW. 


37 


It  is  thought,  as  I  before  hinted,  that  the  captain  will  inherit 
the  greater  part  of  her  property,  having  always  been  her  chief 
favorite :  for,  in  fact,  she  is  partial  to  a  red  coat.  She  has  now 
come  to  the  Hall  to  be  present  at  his  nuptials,  having  a  great  dis 
position  to  interest  herself  in  all  matters  of  love  and  matrimony. 


THE  LOVERS. 

Else  up,  my  love,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away ;  for  lo  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain 
Is  over  and  gone ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth,  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is 
come,  and  the  voice  of  the  turtle  is  heard  in  the  land. 

SONG  OF  SOLOMON. 

To  a  man  who  is  little  of  a  philosopher,  and  a  bachelor  to  boot ; 
and  who,  by  dint  of  some  experience  in  the  follies  of  life,  begins 
to  look  with  a  learned  eye  upon  the  ways  of  man,  and  eke  of 
woman ;  to  such  a  man,  I  say,  there  is  something  very  entertain 
ing  in  noticing  the  conduct  of  a  pair  of  young  lovers.  It  may 
not  be  as  grave  and  scientific  a  study  as  the  loves  of  the  plants, 
but  it  is  certainly  as  interesting. 

I  have  therefore  derived  much  pleasure,  since  my  arrival  at 
the  Hall,  from  observing  the  fair  Julia  and  her  lover.  She  has 
all  the  delightful,  blushing  consciousness  of  an  artless  girl,  inex 
perienced  in  coquetry,  who  has  made  her  first  conquest ;  while 
the  captain  regards  her  with  that  mixture  of  fondness  and  exul 
tation  with  which  a  youthful  lover  is  apt  to  contemplate  so  beau 
teous  a  prize. 

I  observed  them  yesterday  in  the  garden,  advancing  along  one 
of  the  retired  walks.  The  sun  was  shining  with  delicious  warmth, 
making  great  masses  of  bright  verdure,  and  deep  blue  shade. 
The  cuckoo,  that  "  harbinger  of  spring,"  was  faintly  heard  from 


1STKW   YOKK.  OF 


THE  LOVEES.  39 

a  distance  ;  the  thrush  piped  from  the  hawthorn ;  and  the  yellow 
butterflies  sported,  and  toyed,  and  coquetted  in  the  air. 

The  fair  Julia  was  leaning  on  her  lover's  arm,  listening  to  his 
conversation,  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  a  soft  blush  on  her  cheek, 
and  a  quiet  smile  on  her  lips,  while  in  the  hand  that  hung  negli 
gently  by  her  side  was  a  bunch  of  flowers.  In  this  way  they 
were  sauntering  slowly  along ;  and  when  I  considered  them,  and 
the  scene  in  which  they  were  moving,  I  could  not  but  think  it  a 
thousand  pities  that  the  season  should  ever  change,  or  that  young 
people  should  ever  grow  older,  or  that  blossoms  should  give  way 
to  fruit,  or  that  lovers  should  ever  get  married. 

From  what  I  have  gathered  of  famliy  anecdote,  I  understand 
that  the  fair  Julia  is  the  daughter  of  a  favorite  college  friend  of 
the  Squire ;  who,  after  leaving  Oxford,  had  entered  the  army, 
and  served  for  many  years  in  India,  where  he  was  mortally 
wounded  in  a  skirmish  with  the  natives.  In  his  last  moments  he 
had,  with  a  faltering  pen,  recommended  his  wife  and  daughter  to 
the  kindness  of  his  early  friend. 

The  widow  and  her  child  returned  to  England  helpless  and 
almost  hopeless.  When  Mr.  Bracebridge  received  accounts  of 
their  situation,  he  hastened  to  their  relief.  He  reached  them  just 
in  time  to  soothe  the  last  moments  of  the  mother,  who  was  dying 
of  a  consumption,  and  to  make  her  happy  in  the  assurance  that 
her  child  should  never  want  a  protector. 

The  good  Squire  returned  with  his  prattling  charge  to  his 
stronghold,  where  he  has  brought  her  up  with  a  tenderness  truly 
paternal.  As  he  has  taken  some  pains  to  superintend  her  educa 
tion,  and  form  her  taste,  she  has  grown  up  with  many  of  his  no 
tions,  and  considers  him  the  wisest  as  well  as  the  best  of  men. 
Much  of  her  time,  too,  has  been  passed  with  Lady  Lillycraft,  who 


40  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

has  instructed  her  in  the  manners  of  the  old  school,  and  enriched 
her  mind  with  all  kinds  of  novels  and  romances.  Indeed,  her 
ladyship  has  had  a  great  hand  in  promoting  the  match  between 
Julia  and  the  captain,  having  had  them  together  at  her  country 
seat,  the  moment  she  found  there  was  an  attachment  growing  up 
between  them  ;  the  good  lady  being  never  so  happy  as  when  she 

has  a  pair  of  turtles  cooing  about  her. 

• 
I  have  been  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with  which  the  fair 

Julia  is  regarded  by  the  old  servants  at  the  Hall.  She  has  been 
a  pet  with  them  from  childhood,  and  every  one  seems  to  lay  some 
claim  to  her  education ;  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  she  should  be 
extremely  accomplished.  The  gardener  taught  her  to  rear  flow 
ers,  of  which  she  is  extremely  fond.  Old  Christy,  the  pragmatical 
huntsman,  softens  when  she  approaches ;  and  as  she  sits  lightly 
and  gracefully  in  her  saddle,  claims  the  merit  of  having  taught 
her  to  ride ;  while  the  housekeeper,  who  almost  looks  upon  her  as 
a  daughter,  intimates  that  she  first  gave  her  an  insight  into  the 
mysteries  of  the  toilet,  having  been  dressing-maid  in  her  young 
days  to  the  late  Mrs.  Bracebridge.  I  am  inclined  to  credit  this 
last  claim,  as  I  have  noticed  that  the  dress  of  the  young  lady  had 
an  air  of  the  old  school,  though  managed  with  native  taste,  and 
that  her  hair  was  put  up  very  much  in  the  style  of  Sir  Peter 
Lely's  portraits  in  the  picture  gallery. 

Her  very  musical  attainments  partake  of  this  old-fashioned 
character,  and  most  of  her  songs  are  such  as  are  not  at  the  pres 
ent  day  to  be  found  on  the  piano  of  a  modern  performer.  I  have, 
however,  seen  so  much  of  modern  fashions,  modern  accomplish 
ments,  and  modern  fine  ladies,  that  I  relish  this  tinge  of  antiqua 
ted  style  in  so  young  and  lovely  a  girl ;  and  I  have  had  as  much 
pleasure  in  hearing  her  warble  one  of  the  old  songs  of  Herrick, 


THE  LOVERS. 


41 


or  Carew,  or  Suckling,  adapted  to  some  simple  old  melody,  as 
from  listening  to  a  lady  amateur  sky-lark  it  up  and  down  through 
the  finest  bravura  of  Kossini  or  Mozart. 

We  have  very  pretty  music  in  the  evenings,  occasionally,  be 
tween  her  and  the  captain,  assisted  sometimes  by  Master  Simon, 
•who  scrapes,  dubiously,  on  his  violin ;  being  very  apt  to  get  out, 
and  to  halt  a  note  or  two  in  the  rear.  Sometimes  he  even  thrums 
a  little  on  the  piano,  and  takes  a  part  in  a  trio,  in  which  his 
voice  can  generally  be  distinguished  by  a  certain  quavering  tone, 
and  an  occasional  false  note. 

I  was  praising  the  fair  Julia's  performance  to  him  after  one  of 
her  songs,  when  I  found  he  took  to  himself  the  whole  Credit  of 
having  formed  her  musical  taste,  assuring  me  that  she  was  very 
apt ;  and,  indeed,  summing  up  her  whole  character  in  his  know 
ing  way,  by  adding,  that  "  she  was  a  very  nice  girl,  and  had  no 
nonsense  about  her." 


FAMILY  RELICS. 

My  Infelice's  face,  her  brow,  her  eye, 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek:  and  such  sweet  skill 

Hath  from  the  cunning  workman's  pencil  flown, 

These  lips  look  fresh  and  lively  as  her  own. 

False  colors  last  after  the  true  be  dead. 

Of  all  the  roses  grafted  on  her  cheeks, 

Of  all  the  graces  dancing  in  her  eyes, 

Of  all  the  music  set  upon  her  tongue, 

Of  all  that  was  past  woman's  excellence 

In  her  white  bosom ;  look,  a  painted  board 

Circumscribes  all!  DEKKEB. 

AN  old  English  family  mansion  is  a  fertile  subject  for  study.  It 
abounds  with  illustrations  of  former  times,  and  traces  of  the 
tastes,  and  humors,  and  manners,  of  successive  generations.  The 
alterations  and  additions,  in  different  styles  of  architecture ;  the 
furniture,  plate,  pictures,  hangings  ;  the  warlike  and  sporting  im 
plements  of  different  ages  and  fancies ;  all  furnish  food  for  curi- 
qus  and  amusing  speculation.  As  the  Squire  is  very  careful  in 
collecting  and  preserving  all  family  relics,  the  Hall  is  full  of  re 
membrances  of  the  kind.  In  looking  about  the  establishment,  I 
can  picture  to  myself  the  characters  and  habits  that  have  pre 
vailed  at  different  eras  of  the  family  history.  I  have  mentioned 
on  a  former  occasion  the  armor  of  the  crusaders  which  hangs  up 
in  the  Hall.  There  are  also  several  jackboots,  with  enormously 


FAMILY   RELICS.  43 

thick  soles  and  high  heels,  which  belonged  to  a  set  of  cavaliers, 
who  filled  the  Hall  with  the  din  and  stir  of  arms  during  the  time 
of  the  Covenanters.  A  number  of  enormous  drinking  vessels  of 
antique  fashion,  with  huge  Venice  glasses,  and  green  hock-glasses, 
with  the  apostles  in  relief  on  them,  remain  as  monuments  of  a 
generation  or  two  of  hard  livers,  who  led  a  life  of  roaring  rev 
elry,  and  first  introduced  the  gout  into  the  family. 

I  shall  pass  over  several  more  such  indications  of  temporary 
tastes  of  the  Squire's  predecessors ;  but  I  cannot  forbear  to  no 
tice  a  pair  of  antlers  in  the  great  hall,  which  is  one  of  the  tro 
phies  of  a  hard-riding  squire  of  former  times,  who  was  the  Nim- 
rod  of  these  parts.  There  are  many  traditions  of  his  wonderful 
feats  in  hunting  still  existing,  which  are  related  by  old  Christy, 
the  huntsman,  who  gets  exceedingly  nettled  if  they  are  in  the 
least  doubted.  Indeed,  there  is  a  frightful  chasm,  a  few  miles 
from  the  Hall,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Squire's  Leap,  from 
his  having  cleared  it  in  the  ardor  of  the  chase ;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  fact,  for  old  Christy  shows  the  very  dints  of  the 
horse's  hoofs  on  the  rocks  on  each  side  of  the  chasm. 

Master  Simon  holds  the  memory  of  this  Squire  in  great  ven 
eration,  and  has  a  number  of  extraordinary  stories  to  tell  con 
cerning  him,  which  he  repeats  at  all  hunting  dinners;  and  I  am 
told  that  they  wax  more  and  more  marvellous  the  older  they 
grow.  He  has  also  a  pair  of  Eippon  spurs  which  belonged  to  this 
mighty  hunter  of  yore,  and  which  he  only  wears  on  particular 
occasions. 

The  place,  however,  which  abounds  most  with  mementoes  of 
past  times,  is  the  picture  gallery ;  and  there  is  something  strangely 
pleasing,  though  melancholy,  in  considering  the  long  rows  of  por 
traits  which  compose  the  greater  part  of  the  collection.  They 


44  BEACEBEIDGE  HALL. 

furnish  a  kind  of  narrative  of  the  lives  of  the  family  worthies 
which  I  am  enabled  to  read  with  the  assistance  of  the  venerable 
housekeeper,  who  is  the  family  chronicler,  prompted  occasionally 
by  Master  Simon.  There  is  the  progress  of  a  fine  lady,  for 
instance,  through  a  variety  of  portraits.  One  represents  her  as 
a  little  girl,  with  a  long  waist  and  hoop,  holding  a  kitten  in  her 
arms,  and  ogling  the  spectator  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  as 
if  she  could  not  turn  her  head.  In  another  we  find  her  in  the 
freshness  of  youthful  beauty,  when  she  was  a  celebrated  belle, 
and  so  hard-hearted  as  to  cause  several  unfortunate  gentlemen  to 
run  desperate  and  write  bad  poetry.  In  another  she  is  depicted 
as  a  stately  dame,  in  the  maturity  of  her  charms ;  next  to  the 
portrait  of  her  husband,  a  gallant  colonel  in  full-bottomed  wig 
and  gold-laced  hat,  who  was  killed  abroad ;  and,  finally,  her  mon 
ument  is  in  the  church,  the  spire  of  which  may  be  seen  from  the 
window,  where  her  effigy  is  carved  in  marble,  and  represents  her 
as  a  venerable  dame  of  seventy-six. 

In  like  manner  I  have  followed  some  of  the  family  great  men 
through  a  series  of  pictures,  from  early  boyhood  to  the  robe  of 
dignity,  or  truncheon  of  command,  and  so  on  by  degrees,  until 
they  were  garnered  up  in  the  common  repository,  the  neighboring 
church. 

There  is  one  group  that  particularly  interested  inc.  It  con 
sisted  of  four  sisters  of  nearly  the  same  age,  who  flourished  about 
a  century  since,  and,  if  I  may  judge  from  their  portraits,  were 
extremely  beautiful.  I  can.  imagine  what  a  scene  of  gayety  and 
romance  this  old  mansion  must  have  been,  when  they  were  in  the 
heyday  of  their  charms ;  when  they  passed  like  beautiful  visions 
through  its  halls,  or  stepped  daintily  to  music  in  the  revels  and 
dances  of  the  cedar  gallery ;  or  printed,  with  delicate  feet,  the 


HEW  YORK.  G.P.-PUTNAM. 


FAMILY   RELICS.  45 

velvet  verdure  of  these  lawns.  How  must  they  have  been  looked 
up  to  with  mingled  love,  and  pride,  and  reverence,  by  the  old 
family  servants ;  and  followed  with  almost  painful  admiration  by 
the  aching  eyes  of  rival  admirers !  How  must  melody,  and  song, 
and  tender  serenade,  have  breathed  about  these  courts,  and  their 
echoes  whispered  to  the  loitering  tread  of  lovers !  How  must 
these  very  turrets  have  made  the  hearts  of  the  young  galliards 
thrill  as  they  first  discerned  them  from  afar,  rising  from  among 
the  trees,  and  pictured  to  themselves  the  beauties  casketed  like 
gems  within  these  walls !  Indeed,  I  have  discovered  about  the 
place  several  faint  records  of  this  reign  of  love  and  romance, 
when  the  Hall  was  a  kind  of  Court  of  Beauty. 

Several  of  the  old  romances  in  the  library  have  marginal 
notes  expressing  sympathy  and  approbation,  where  there  are  long 
speeches  extolling  ladies'  charms,  or  protesting  eternal  fidelity,  or 
bewailing  the  cruelty  of  some  tyrannical  fair  one.  The  inter 
views,  and  declarations,  and  parting  scenes  of  tender  lovers,  also 
bear  evidence  of  having  been  frequently  read,  and  are  scored  and 
marked  with  notes  of  admiration,  and  have  initials  written  on 
the  margins ;  most  of  which  annotations  have  the  day  of  the 
month  and  year  annexed  to  them.  Several  of  the  windows,  too, 
have  scraps  of  poetry  engraved  on  them  with  diamonds,  taken 
from  the  writings  of  the  fair  Mrs.  Philips,  the  once  celebrated 
Orinda.  Some  of  these  seem  to  have  been  inscribed  by  lovers ; 
and  others,  in  a  delicate  and  unsteady  hand,  and  a  little  inaccu 
rate  in  the  spelling,  have  evidently  been  written  by  the  young 
ladies  themselves,  or  by  female  friends,  who  have  been  on  visits 
to  the  Hall.  Mrs.  Philips  seems  to  have  been  their  favorite  au 
thor,  and  they  have  distributed  the  names  of  her  heroes  and  he 
roines  among  their  circle  of  intimacy.  Sometimes,  in  a  male 


46  BEACEBRLDGE  HALL. 

hand,  the  verse  bewails  the  cruelty  of  beauty,  and  the  sufferings 
of  constant  love ;  while  in  a  female  hand  it  prudishly  confines 
itself  to  lamenting  the  parting  of  female  friends.  The  bow-win 
dow  of  my  bed-room,  which  has,  doubtless,  been  inhabited  by  one 
of  these  beauties,  has  several  of  these  inscriptions.  I  have  one 
at  this  moment  before  my  eyes,  called  "  Camilla  parting  with 
Leonora : " 

"  How  perished  is  the  joy  that's  past, 

The  present  how  unsteady  ! 
What  comfort  can  be  great  and  last, 
When  this  is  gone  already  ?  " 

And  close  by  it  is  another,  written,  perhaps,  by  some  adventurous 
lover,  who  had  stolen  into  the  lady's  chamber  during  her  absence  : 

"THKODOSIUS  TO  CAMILLA. 

Fd  rather  in  your  favor  live, 

Than  in  a  lasting  name  ; 
And  much  a  greater  rate  would  give, 

For  happiness  than  fame. 

TIIEODOSIUS,  1700." 

When  I  look  at  these  faint  records  of  gallantry  and  tender 
ness  ;  when  I  contemplate  the  fading  portraits  of  these  beautiful 
girls,  and  think  too  that  they  have  long  since  bloomed,  reigned, 
grown  old,  died,  and  passed  away,  and  with  them  all  their  graces, 
their  triumphs,  their  rivalries,  their  admirers ;  the  whole  empire 
of  love  and  pleasure  in  which  they  ruled — "  all  dead,  all  buried, 
all  forgotten,"  I  find  a  cloud  of  melancholy  stealing  over  the 
present  gayeties  around  me.  I  was  gazing,  in  a  musing  mood, 
this  very  morning,  at  the  portrait  of  the  lady,  whose  husband  was 


FAMILY   EELICS.  4'7 

killed  abroad,  when  the  fair  Julia  entered  the  gallery,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  the  captain.  The  sun  shone  through  the  row  of  win 
dows  on  her  as  she  passed  along,  and  she  seemed  to  beam  out 
each  time  into  brightness,  and  relapse  into  shade,  until  the  door 
at  the  bottom  of  the  gallery  closed  after  her.  I  felt  a  sadness  of 
heart  at  the  idea,  that  this  was  an  emblem  of  her  lot :  a  few 
more  years  of  sunshine  and  shade,  and  all  this  life,  and  loveli 
ness,  and  enjoyment,  will  have  ceased,  and  nothing  be  left  to 
commemorate  this  beautiful  being  but  one  more  perishable  por 
trait  ;  to  awaken,  perhaps,  the  trite  speculations  of  some  future 
loiterer,  like  myself,  when  I  and  my  scribblings  shall  have  lived 
through  our  brief  existence,  and  been  forgotten. 


AN  OLD  SOLDIER. 

I've  worn  some  leather  out  abroad ;  let  out  a  heathen  soul  or  two ;  fed  this  good 
sword  with  the  black  blood  of  pagan  Christians;  converted  a  few  Infidels  with  it. — 
But  let  that  pass.  THB  ORDINARY. 

THE  Hall  was  thrown  into  some  little  agitation,  a  few  days  since, 
by  the  arrival  of  General  Harbottle.  He  had  been  expected  for 
several  days,  and  looked  for,  rather  impatiently,  by  several  of 
the  family.  Master  Simon  assured  me  that  I  would  like  the  gen 
eral  hugely,  for  he  was  a  blade  of  the  old  school,  and  an  excel 
lent  table  companion.  Lady  Lillycraft,  also,  appeared  to  be 
somewhat  fluttered,  on  the  morning  of  the  general's  arrival,  for 
he  had  been  one  of  her  early  admirers ;  and  she  recollected  him 
only  as  a  dashing  young  ensign,  just  come  upon  the  town.  She 
actually  spent  an  hour  longer  at  her  toilette,  and  made  her  ap 
pearance  with  her  hair  uncommonly  frizzed  and  powdered,  and 
an  additional  quantity  of  rouge.-  She  was  evidently  a  little  sur 
prised  and  shocked,  therefore,  at  finding  the  lithe  dashing  ensign 
transformed  into  a  corpulent  old  general,  with  a  double  chin ; 
though  it  was  a  perfect  picture  to  witness  their  salutations ;  the 
graciousness  of  her  profound  courtesy,  and  the  air  of  the  old 
school  with  which  the  general  took  off  his  hat,  swayed  it  gently 
in  his  hand,  and  bowed  his  powdered  head. 

All  this  bustle  and  anticipation  has  caused  me  to  study  the 
general  with  a  little  more  attention  than,  perhaps,  I  should  other- 


AN   OLD   SOLDIER.  49 

wise  have  done ;  and  the  few  days  that  he  has  already  passed  at 
the  Hall  have  enabled  me,  I  think,  to  furnish  a  tolerable  likeness 
of  him  to  the  reader. 

He  is,  as  Master  Simon  observed,  a  soldier  of  the  old  school, 
with  powdered  head,  side  locks,  and  pigtail.  His  face  is  shaped 
like  the  stern  of  a  Dutch  man-of-war,  narrow  at  top,  and  wide  at 
bottom,  with  full  rosy  cheeks  and  a  double  chin ;  so  that,  to  use 
the  cant  of  the  day,  his  organs  of  eating  may  be  said  to  be  pow 
erfully  developed. 

The  general,  though  a  veteran,  has  seen  very  little  active  ser 
vice,  except  the  taking  of  Seringapatam,  which  forms  an  era  in 
his  history.  He  wears  a  large  emerald  in  his  bosom,  and  a  dia 
mond  on  his  finger,  which  he  got  on  that  occasion,  and  whoever 
is  unlucky  enough  to  notice  either,  is  sure  to  involve  himself  in 
the  whole  history  of  the  siege.  To  judge  from  the  general's  con 
versation,  the  taking  of  Seringapatam  is  the  most  important  affair 
that  has  occurred  for  the  last  century. 

On  the  approach  of  warlike  times  on  the  continent,  he  was 
rapidly  promoted  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  of  younger  officers  of 
merit ;  until,  having  been  hoisted  to  the  rank  of  general,  he  was 
quietly  laid  on  the  shelf.  Since  that  time  his  campaigns  have 
been  principally  confined  to  watering-places ;  where  he  drinks  the 
waters  for  a  slight  touch  of  the  liver  which  he  got  in  India ;  and 
plays  whist  with  old  dowagers,  with  whom  he  has  flirted  in  his 
younger  days.  Indeed,  he  talks  of  all  the  fine  women  of  the 
last  half  century,  and,  according  to  hints  which  he  now  and  then 
drops,  has  enjoyed  the  particular  smiles  of  many  of  them. 

He  has  seen  considerable  garrison  duty,  and  can  speak  of 
almost  every  place  famous  for  good  quarters,  and  where  the  in 
habitants  give  good  dinners.  He  is  a  diner-out  of  first-rate  cur- 
3 


50  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

rency,  when  in  town ;  being  invited  to  one  place,  because  he  has 
been  seen  at  another.  In  the  same  way  he  is  invited  about  the 
country-seats,  and  can  describe  half  the  seats  in  the  kingdom, 
from  actual  observation ;  nor  is  any  one  better  versed  in  court 
gossip,  and  the  pedigrees  and  intermarriages  of  the  nobility. 

As  the  general  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  an  old  beau,  and  there 
are  several  ladies  at  the  Hall,  especially  his  quondam  flame  Lady 
Lillycraft,  he  is  put  rather  upon  his  gallantry.  He  commonly 
passes  some  time,  therefore,  at  his  toilette,  and  takes  the  field  at 
a  late  hour  every  morning,  with  his  hair  dressed  out  and  pow 
dered,  and  a  rose  in  his  button-hole.  After  he  has  breakfasted, 
he  walks  up  and  down  the  terrace  in  the  sunshine,  humming  an 
air,  and  hemming  between  every  stave,  carrying  one  hand  behind 
his  back,  and  with  the  other  touching  his  cane  to  the  ground,  and 
then  raising  it  up  to  his  shoulder.  Should  he,  in  these  morning 
promenades,  meet  any  of  the  elder  ladies  of  the  family,  as  he  fre 
quently  does  Lady  Lillycraft,  his  hat  is  immediately  in  his  hand, 
and  it  is  enough  to  remind  one  of  those  courtly  groups  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  in  old  prints  of  Windsor-terrace,  or  Kensington  garden. 

He  talks  frequently  about  "  the  service,"  and  is  fond  of  hum 
ming  the  old  song, 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  ? 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Whose  business  'tis  to  die  ! 

I  cannot  discover,  however,  that  the  general  has  ever  run  any 
great  risk  of  dying,  excepting  from  an  apoplexy,  or  an  indiges 
tion.  He  criticises  all  the  battles  on  the  continent,  and  discusses 
the  merits  of  the  commanders,  but  never  fails  to  bring  the  con- 


AN   OLD   SOLDIEK.  51 

versation,  ultimately,  to  Tippoo  Saib  and  Seringapatam.  I  am 
told  that  the  general  was  a  perfect  champion  at  drawing-rooms, 
parades,  and  watering-places,  during  the  late  war,  and  was  looked 
to  with  hope  and  confidence  by  many  an  old  lady,  when  laboring 
under  the  terror  of  Bonaparte's  invasion. 

He  is  thoroughly  loyal,  and  attends  punctually  on  levees 
when  in  town.  He  has  treasured  up  many  remarkable  sayings  of 
the  late  king,  particularly  one  which  the  king  made  to  him  on  a 
field-day,  complimenting  him  on  the  excellence  of  his  horse.  He 
extols  the  whole  royal  family,  but  especially  the  present  king, 
whom  he  pronounces  the  most  perfect  gentleman  and  best  whist- 
player  in  Europe.  The  general  swears  rather  more  than  is  the 
fashion  at  the  present  day ;  but  it  was  the  mode  in  the  old  school. 
He  is,  however,  very  strict  in  religious  matters,  and  a  stanch 
churchman.  He  repeats  the  responses  very  loudly  in  church,  and 
is  emphatical  in  praying  for  the  king  and  royal  family. 

At  table  his  loyalty  waxes  very  fervent  with  his  second  bottle, 
and  the  song  of  "God  save  the  King"  puts  him  into  a  perfect 
ecstasy.  He  is  amazingly  well  contented  with  the  present  state 
of  things,  and  apt  to  get  a  little  impatient  at  any  talk  about  na 
tional  ruin  and  agricultural  distress.  He  says  he  has  travelled 
about  the  country  as  much  as  any  man,  and  has  met  with  nothing 
but  prosperity ;  and  to  confess  the  truth,  a  great  part  of  his  time 
is  spent  in  visiting  from  one  country-seat  to  another,  and  riding 
about  the  parks  of  his  friends.  "  They  talk  of  public  distress," 
said  the  general  this  day  to  me,  at  dinner,  as  he  smacked  a  glass 
of  rich  burgundy,  and  cast  his  eyes  about  the  ample  board ;  "  they 
talk  of  public  distress,  but  where  do  we  find  it,  sir  ?  I  see  none. 
I  see  no  reason  any  one  has  to  complain.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
sir,  this  talk  about  public  distress  is  all  humbug !  " 


THE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE. 

Little  dogs  and  all! 


LEAR. 


IN  giving  an  account  of  the  arrival  of  Lady  Lillycraft  at  the 
Hall,  I  ought  to  have  mentioned  the  entertainment  which  I  de 
rived  from  witnessing  the  unpacking  of  her  carriage,  and  the  dis 
posing  of  her  retinue.  There  is  something  extremely  amusing  to 
me  in  the  number  of  factitious  wants,  the  loads  of  imaginary  con 
veniences,  but  real  incumbrances,  with  which  the  luxurious  are 
apt  to  burthen  themselves.  I  like  to  watch  the  whimsical  stir 
and  display  about  one  of  these  petty  progresses.  The  number  of 
robustious  footmen  and  retainers  of  all  kinds  bustling  about,  with 
looks  of  infinite  gravity  and  importance,  to  do  almost  nothing. 
The  number  of  heavy  trunks,  and  parcels,  and  bandboxes  belong 
ing  to  my  lady ;  and  the  solicitude  exhibited  about  some  humble, 
odd-looking  box,  by  my  lady's  maid ;  the  cushions  piled  in  the 
carriage  to  make  a  soft  seat  still  softer,  and  to  prevent  the 
dreaded  possibility  of  a  jolt ;  the  smelling-bottles,  the  cordials, 
the  baskets  of  biscuit  and  fruit ;  the  new  publications ;  all  pro 
vided  to  guard  against  hunger,  fatigue,  or  ennui ;  the  led  horses 
to  vary  the  mode  of  travelling ;  and  all  this  preparation  and  pa 
rade  to  move,  perhaps,  some  very  good-for-nothing  personage 
about  a  little  space  of  earth ! 


THE   WIDOW'S    KETIXUE.  53 

I  do  not  mean  to  apply  the  latter  part  of  these  observations 
to  Lady  Lillycraft,  for  whose  simple  kind-heartedness  I  have  a 
very  great  respect,  and  who  is  really  a  most  amiable  and  worthy 
being.  I  cannot  refrain,  however,  from  mentioning  some  of  the 
motley  retinue  she  has  brought  with  her  ;  and  which,  indeed,  be 
speak  the  overflowing  kindness  of  her  nature,  which  requires  her 
to  be  surrounded  with  objects  on  which  to  lavish  it. 

In  the  first  place,  her  ladyship  has  a  pampered  coachman, 
with  a  red  face,  and  cheeks  that  hang  down  like  dew-laps.  He 
evidently  domineers  over  her  a  little  with  respect  to  the  fat 
horses ;  and  only  drives  out  Avhen  he  thinks  proper,  and  when  he 
thinks  it  will  be  "  good  for  the  cattle." 

She  has  a  favorite  page  to  attend  upon  her  person :  a  hand 
some  boy  of  about  twelve  years  of  age,  but  a  mischievous  varlet, 
very  much  spoiled,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  be  good  for  nothing.  He 
is  dressed  in  green,  with  a  profusion  of  gold  cord  and  gilt  buttons 
about  his  clothes.  She  always  has  one  or  two  attendants  of  the 
kind,  who  are  replaced  by  others  as  soon  as  they  grow  to  fourteen 
years  of  age.  She  has  brought  two  dogs  with  her,  also,  out  of  a 
number  of  pets  which  she  maintains  at  home.  One  is  a  fat 
spaniel  called  Zephyr — though  heaven  defend  me  from  such  a 
zephyr !  He  is  fed  out  of  all  shape  and  comfort ;  his  eyes  are 
nearly  strained  out  of  his  head  ;  he  wheezes  with  corpulency,  and 
cannot  walk  without  great  difficulty.  The  other  is  a  little,  old, 
gray  muzzled  curmudgeon,  with  an  unhappy  eye,  that  kindles 
like  a  coal  if  you  only  look  at  him  ;  his  nose  turns  up ;  his  mouth 
is  drawn  into  wrinkles,  so  as  to  show  his  teeth ;  in  short,  he  has 
altogether  the  look  of  a  dog  far  gone  in  misanthropy,  and  totally 
sick  of  the  world.  When  he  walks,  he  has  his  tail  curled  up  so 
tight  that  it  seems  to  lift  his  feet  from  the  ground ;  and  he  seldom 


54  BBACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

makes  use  of  more  than  three  legs  at  a  time,  keeping  the  other 
drawn  up  as  a  reserve.  This  last  wretch  is  called  Beauty. 

These  dogs  are  full  of  elegant  ailments  unknown  to  vulgar 
dogs ;  and  are  petted  and  nursed  by  Lady  Lillycraft  with  the 
tenderest  kindness.  They  are  pampered  and  fed  with  delicacies 
by  their  fellow-minion,  the  page ;  but  their  stomachs  are  often 
weak  and  out  of  order,  so  that  they  cannot  eat ;  though  I  have 
now  and  then  seen  the  page  give  them  a  mischievous  pinch,  or 
thwack  over  the  head,  when  his  mistress  was  not  by.  They  have 
cushions  for  their  express  use,  on  which  they  lie  before  the  fire, 
.and  yet  are  apt  to  shiver  and  moan  if  there  is  the  least  draught 
of  air.  When  any  one  enters  the  room,  they  make  a  tyrannical 
barking  that  is  absolutely  deafening.  They  are  insolent  to  all 
the  other  dogs  of  the  establishment.  There  is  a  noble  stag- 
hound,  a  great  favorite  of  the  Squire's,  who  is  a  privileged  visitor 
to  the  parlor ;  but  the  moment  he  makes  his  appearance,  these 
intruders  fly  at  him  with  furious  rage ;  and  I  have  admired  the 
sovereign  indifference  and  contempt  with  which  he  seems  to 
look  down  upon  his  puny  assailants.  When  her  ladyship  drives 
out,  these  dogs  are  generally  carried  with  her  to  take  the  air ; 
when  they  look  out  of  each  window  of  the  carriage,  and  bark  at 
all  vulgar  pedestrian  dogs.  These  dogs  are  a  continual  source  of 
misery  to  the  household :  as  they  are  always  in  the  way,  they 
every  now  and  then  get  their  toes  trod  on,  and  then  there  is  a 
yelping  on  their  part,  and  a  loud  lamentation  on  the  part  of  their 
mistress,  that  fill  the  room  with  clamor  and  confusion. 

Lastly,  there  is  her  ladyship's  waiting-gentlewoman,  Mrs. 
Hannah,  a  prim,  pragmatical  old  maid ;  one  of  the  most  intoler 
able  and  intolerant  virgins  that  ever  lived.  She  has  kept  her  vir 
tue  by  her  until  it  has  turned  sour,  and  now  every  word  and  look 


THE  WIDOW'S   RETINUE.  55 

smacks  of  verjuice.  She  is  the  very  opposite  to  her  mistress,  for 
one  hates,  and  the  other  loves,  all  mankind.  How  they  first 
came  together  I  cannot  imagine  ;  but  they  have  lived  together  for 
many  years ;  and  the  abigail's  temper  being  tart  and  encroach 
ing,  and  her  ladyship's  easy  and  yielding,  the  former  has  got  the 
complete  upper  hand,  and  tyrannizes  over  the  good  lady  in  secret. 

Lady  Lillycraft  now  and  then  co'mplains  of  it,  in  great  confi 
dence,  to  her  friends,  but  hushes  up  the  subject  immediately,  if 
Mrs.  Hannah  makes  her  appearance.  Indeed,  she  has  been  so 
accustomed  to  be  attended  by  her,  that  she  thinks  she  could  not 
do  without  her ;  though  one  great  study  of  her  life  is  to  keep 
Mrs.  Hannah  in  good  humor,  by  little  presents  and  kindnesses. 

Master  Simon  has  a  most  devout  abhorrence,  mingled  with 
awe,  for  this  ancient  spinster.  He  told  me  the  other  day,  in  a 
whisper,  that  she  Avas  a  cursed  brimstone — in  fact,  he  added  ano 
ther  epithet,  which  I  would  not  repeat  for  the  world.  I  have  re 
marked,  however,  that  he  is  always  extremely  civil  to  her  when 
they  meet. 


READY-MONEY  JACK. 

My  purse,  it  is  my  privy  vvyfe, 

This  song  I  dare  both  syng  and  say, 

It  keepeth  men  from  grievous  stryfe 

"When  every  man  for  hymself  shall  pay. 

As  I  ryde  in  ryche  array 

For  gold  and  silver  men  wyll  me  floryshe; 

By  thys  matter  I  dare  well  saye. 

Ever  gramercy  myne  owne  purse. 

BOOK  OF  HUNTING. 

ON  the  skirts  of  the  neighboring  village  there  lives  a  kind  of 
small  potentate,  who,  for  aught  I  know,  is  a  representative  of  one 
of  the  most  ancient  legitimate  lines  of  the  present  day ;  for  the 
empire  over  which  he  reigns  has  belonged  to  his  family  time  out 
of  mind.  His  territories  comprise  a  considerable  number  of  good 
fat  acres ;  and  his  seat  of  power  is  in  an  old  farm-house,  where 
he  enjoys,  unmolested,  the  stout  oaken  chair  of  his  ancestors. 
The  personage  to  whom  I  allude  is  a  sturdy  old  yeoman  of  the 
name  of  John  Tibbets,  or  rather  Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  as 
he  is  called  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

The  first  place  where  he  attracted  my  attention  was  in  the 
•church-yard  on  Sunday ;  where  he  sat  on  a  tombstone  after  the 
service,  with  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  holding  forth  to  a  small 
circle  of  auditors ;  and,  as  I  presumed,  expounding  the  law  and 
the  prophets ;  until,  on  drawing  a  little  nearer,  I  found  he  was 
only  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a  brown  horse.  He  presented 


HEADY-MONEY   JACK.  57 

so  faithful  a  picture  of  a  substantial  English  yeoman,  such  as  he 
is  often  described  in  books,  heightened,  indeed,  by  some  little 
finery,  peculiar  to  himself,  that  I  could  not  but  take  note  of  his 
whole  appearance. 

He  was  between  fifty  and  sixty,  of  a  strong,  muscular  frame, 
and  at  least  six  feet  high,  with  a  physiognomy  as  grave  as  a  lion's, 
and  set  off  with  short,  curling,  iron-gray  locks.  His  shirt-collar 
was  turned  down,  and  displayed  a  neck  covered  with  the  same 
short,  curling,  gray  hair ;  and  he  wore  a  colored  silk  neck-cloth, 
tied  very  loosely,  and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom,  with  a  green  paste 
brooch  on  the  knot.  His  coat  was  of  dark  green  cloth,  with  sil 
ver  buttons,  on  each  of  which  was  engraved  a  stag,  with  his  own 
name,  John  Tibbets,  underneath.  He  had  an  inner  waistcoat  of 
figured  chintz,  between  which  and  his  coat  was  another  of  scarlet 
cloth,  unbuttoned.  His  breeches  were  also  left  unbuttoned  at  the 
knees,  not  from  any  slovenliness,  but  to  show  a  broad  pair  of  scar 
let  garters.  His  stockings  were  blue,  with  white  clocks  ;  he  wore 
large  silver  shoe-buckles ;  a  broad  paste  buckle  in  his  hatband ; 
his  sleeve-buttons  were  gold  seven-shilling  pieces ;  and  he  had 
two  or  three  guineas  hanging  as  ornaments  to  his  watch-chain. 

On  making  some  inquiries  about  him,  I  gathered,  that  he  was 
descended  from  a  line  of  farmers  that  had  always  lived  on  the 
same  spot,  and  owned  the  same  property ;  and  that  half  of  the 
church-yard  was  taken  up  with  the  tombstones  of  his  race.  He 
has  all  his  life  been  an  important  character  in  the  place.  When 
a  youngster  he  was  one  of  the  most  roaring  blades  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  No  one  could  match  him  at  wrestling,  pitching  the  bar, 
cudgel  play,  and  other  athletic  exercises.  Like  the  renowned 
Pinner  of  Wakefield,  he  was  the  village  champion  ;  carried  off  the 
prize  at  all  the  fairs,  and  threw  his  gauntlet  at  the  country  round. 
3* 


58  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Even  to  this  day  the  old  people  talk  of  his  prowess,  and  undervalue, 
in  comparison,  all  heroes  of  the  green  that  have  succeeded  him ; 
nay,  they  say,  that  if  Keady-Money  Jack  were  to  take  the  field 
even  now,  there  is  no  one  could  stand  before  him. 

When  Jack's  father  died,  the  neighbors  shook  their  heads,  and 
predicted  that  young  hopeful  would  soon  make  way  with  the  old 
homestead  ;  but  Jack  falsified  all  their  predictions.  The  moment 
he  succeeded  to  the  paternal  farm,  he  assumed  a  new  character : 
took  a  wife ;  attended  resolutely  to  his  affairs,  and  became  an  in 
dustrious,  thrifty  farmer.  With  the  family  property  be  inherited 
a  set  of  old  family  maxims,  to  which  he  steadily  adhered.  He 
saw  to  everything  himself;  put  his  own  hand  to  the  plough; 
worked  hard ;  ate  heartily ;  slept  soundly ;  paid  for  every  thing 
in  cash  down ;  and  never  danced  except  he  could  do  it  to  the 
music  of  his  own  money  in  both  pockets.  He  has  never  been 
without  a  hundred  or  two  pounds  in  gold  by  him,  and  never  allows 
a  debt  to  stand  unpaid.  This  has  gained  him  his  current  name, 
of  which,  by  the  by,  he  is  a  little  proud ;  and  has  caused  him  to 
be  looked  upon  as  a  very  wealthy  man  by  all  the  village. 

Notwithstanding  his  thrift,  however,  he  has  never  denied  him 
self  the  amusements  of  life,  but  has  taken  a  share  in  every  pass 
ing  pleasure.  It  is  his  maxim,  that  "  he  that  works  hard  can 
afford  to  play."  He  is,  therefore,  an  attendant  at  all  the  country 
fairs  and  wakes,  and  has  signalized  himself  by  feats  of  strength 
and  prowess  on  every  village  green  in  the  shire.  He  often  makes 
his  appearance  at  horse-races,  and  sports  his  half  guinea,  and  even 
his  guinea  at  a  time ;  keeps  a  good  horse  for  his  own  riding,  and 
to  this  day  is  fond  of  following  the  hounds,  and  is  generally  in  at 
the  death.  He  keeps  up  the  rustic  revels,  and  hospitalities  too, 
for  which  his  paternal  farmhouse  has  always  been  noted ;  has 


READY-MONEY   JACK.  59 

plenty  of  good  cheer  and  dancing  at  harvest-home,  and,  above 
all,  keeps  the  "  merry  night,"  *  as  it  is  termed,  at  Christmas. 

With  all  his  love  of  amusement,  however,  Jack  is  by  no 
means  a  boisterous  jovial  companion.  He  is  seldom  known  to 
laugh  even  in  the  midst  of  his  gayety ;  but  maintains  the  same 
grave,  lion-like  demeanor.  He  is  very  slow  at  comprehending  a 
joke  ;  and  is  apt  to  sit  puzzling  at  it,  with  a  perplexed  look,  while 
the  rest  of  the  company  is  in  a  roar.  This  gravity  has,  perhaps, 
grown  on  him  with  the  growing  weight  of  his  character ;  for  he 
is  gradually  rising  into  patriarchal  dignity  in  his  native  place. 
Though  he  no  longer  takes  an  active  part  in  athletic  sports,  he 
always  presides  at  them,  and  is  appealed  to  on  all  occasions  as 
umpire.  He  maintains  the  peace  on  the  village  green  at  holiday 
games,  and  quells  all  brawls  and  quarrels  by  collaring  the  parties 
and  shaking  them  heartily,  if  refractory.  No  one  ever  pretends 
to  raise  a  hand  against  him,  or  to  contend  against  his  decisions ; 
the  young  men  have  grown  up  in  habitual  awe  of  his  prowess, 
and  in  implicit  deference  to  him  as  the  champion  and  lord  of  the 
green. 

He  is  a  regular  frequenter  of  the  village  inn,  the  landlady 
having  been  a  sweetheart  of  his  in  early  life,  and  he  having 
always  continued  on  kind  terms  with  her.  He  seldom,  however, 
drinks  any  thing  but  a  draft  of  ale ;  smokes  his  pipe,  and  pays 
his  reckoning  before  leaving  the  tap-room.  Here  he  "  gives  his 
little  senate  laws ; "  decides  bets,  which  are  very  generally  re 
ferred  to  him ;  determines  upon  the  characters  and  qualities  of 

*  MERRY  NIGHT.  A  rustic  merry-making  in  a  farmhouse  about  Christmas, 
common  in  some  parts  of  Yorkshire.  There  is  abundance  of  homely  fare,  tea, 
cakes,  fruit,  and  ale ;  various  feats  of  agility,  amusing  games,  romping,  dancing, 
and  kissing  withal.  They  commonly  break  up  at  midnight. 


60  BKACEBRIDGE   HAIX. 

horses ;  and,  indeed,  plays  now  and  then  the  part  of  a  judge,  in 
settling  petty  disputes  between  neighbors,  which  otherwise  might 
have  been  nursed  by  country  attorneys  into  tolerable  law-suits. 
Jack  is  very  candid  and  impartial  in  his  decisions,  but  he  has  not 
a  head  to  carry  a  long  argument,  and  is  very  apt  to  get  perplexed 
and  out  of  patience  if  there  is  much  pleading.  He  generally 
breaks  through  the  argument  with  a  strong  voice,  and  brings 
matters  to  a  summary  conclusion,  by  pronouncing  what  he  calls 
the  "  upshot  of  the  business,"  or,  in  other  words,  "  the  long  and 
the  short  of  the  matter." 

Jack  made  a  journey  to  London  a  great  many  years  since, 
which  has  furnished  him  with  topics  of  conversation  ever  since. 
He  saw  the  old  king  on  the  terrace  at  Windsor,  who  stopped,  and 
pointed  him  out  to  one  of  the  princesses,  being  probably  struck 
with  Jack's  truly  yeomanlike  appearance.  This  is  a  favorite  an 
ecdote  with  him,  and  has  no  doubt  had  a  great  effect  in  making 
him  a  most  loyal  subject  ever  since,  in  spite  of  taxes  and  poors' 
rates.  He  was  also  at  Bartholomew  fair,  where  he  had  half  the 
buttons  cut  off  his  coat ;  and  a  gang  of  pickpockets,  attracted 
by  his  external  show  of  gold  and  silver,  made  a  regular  attempt 
to  hustle  him  as  he  was  gazing  at  a  show ;  but  for  once  they 
caught  a  tartar ;  for  Jack  enacted  as  great  wonders  among  the 
gang,  as  Samson  did  among  the  Philistines.  One  of  his  neigh 
bors,  who  had  accompanied  him  to  town,  and  was  with  him  at  the 
fair,  brought  back  an  account  of  his  exploits,  which  raised  the 
pride  of  the  whole  village;  who  considered  their  champion  as 
having  subdued  all  London,  and  eclipsed  the  achievements  of 
Friar  Tuck,  or  even  the  renowned  Eobin  Hood  himself. 

Of  late  years  the  old  fellow  has  begun  to  take  the  world 
easily;  he  works  less,  and  indulges  in  greater  leisure,  his  son 


EEADY-MONET   JACK.  61 

having  grown  up,  and  succeeded  to  him  both  in  the  labors  of  the 
farm,  and  the  exploits  of  the  green.  Like  all  sons  of  distin 
guished  men,  however,  his  father's  renown  is  a  disadvantage  to 
him,  for  he  can  never  come  up  to  public  expectation.  Though  a 
fine  active  fellow  of  three-and-twenty,  and  quite  the  "  cock  of  the 
walk,"  yet  the  old  people  declare  he  is  nothing  like  what  Eeady- 
Money  Jack  was  at  his  time  of  life.  The  youngster  himself  ac 
knowledges  his  inferiority,  and  has  a  wonderful  opinion  of  the 
old  man,  who  indeed  taught  him  all  his  athletic  accomplishments, 
and  holds  such  a  sway  over  him,  that  I  am  told,  even  to  this  day, 
he  would  have  no  hesitation  to  take  him  in  hands,  if  he  rebelled 
against  paternal  government. 

The  Squire  holds  Jack  in  very  high  esteem,  and  shows  him 
to  all  his  visitors,  as  a  specimen  of  old  English  "  heart  of  oak." 
He  frequently  calls  at  his  house,  and  tastes  some  of  his  home 
brewed,  which  is  excellent.  He  made  Jack  a  present  of  old 
Tusser's  "  Hundred  Points  of  good  Husbandrie,"  which  has  fur 
nished  him  with  reading  ever  since,  and  is  his  text-book  and 
manual  in  all  agricultural  and  domestic  concerns.  He  has  made 
dog's  ears  at  the  most  favorite  passages,  and  knows  many  of  the 
poetical  maxims  by  heart. 

Tibbets,  though  not  a  man  to  be  daunted  or  fluttered  by  high 
acquaintances,  and  though  he  cherishes  a  sturdy  independence  of 
mind  and  manner,  yet  is  evidently  gratified  by  the  attentions  of 
the  Squire,  whom  he  has  known  from  boyhood,  and  pronounces 
"  a  true  gentleman  every  inch  of  him."  He  is,  also,  on  excellent 
terms  with  Master  Simon,  who  is  a  kind  of  privy  counsellor  to 
the  family ;  but  his  great  favorite  is  the  Oxonian,  whom  he  taught 
to  wrestle  and  play  at  quarter-staff  when  a  boy,  and  considers 
the  most  promising  young  gentleman  in  the  whole  county. 


BACHELORS. 

The  Bachelor  most  joyfully 
In  pleasant  plight  doth  pass  his  daics, 

Goodfellowship  and  companio 
He  doth  maintain  and  keep  alwaies. 

ETAN'S  OLD  BALLADS. 

THERE  is  no  character  in  the  comedy  of  human  life  more  difficult 
to  play  well,  than  that  of  an  old  Bachelor.  When  a  single  gen 
tleman,  therefore,  arrives  at  that  critical  period  when  he  begins 
to  consider  it  an  impertinent  question  to  be  askedfhis  age,  I  would 
advise  him  to  look  well  to  his  ways.  This  period,  it  is  true,  is 
much  later  with  some  men  than  with  others ;  I  have  witnessed 
more  than  once  the  meeting  of  two  wrinkled  old  lads  of  this  kind, 
who  had  not  seen  each  other  for  several  years,  and  have  been 
amused  by  the  amicable  exchange  of  compliments  on  each  other's 
appearance  that  takes  place  on  such  occasions.  There  is  always 
one  invariable  observation:  "Why,  bless  my  soul!  you  look 
younger  than  when  last  I  saw  you !  "  Whenever  a  man's  friends 
begin  to  compliment  him  about  looking  young,  he  may  be  sure 
that  they  think  he  is  growing  old. 

I  am  led  to  make  these  remarks  by  the  conduct  of  Master 
Simon  and  the  general,  who  have  become  great  cronies.  As  the 
former  is  the  youngest  by  many  years,  he  is  regarded  as  quite  a 


BACHELORS.  63 

youthful  blade  by  the  general,  who,  moreover,  looks  upon  him  as 
a  man  of  great  wit  and  prodigious  acquirements.  I  have  already 
hinted  that  Master  Simon  is  a  family  beau,  and  considered  rather 
a  young  fellow  by  all  the  elderly  ladies  of  the  connection ;  for  an 
old  bachelor,  in  an  old  family  connection,  is  something  like  an 
actor  in  a  regular  dramatic  corps,  who  seems  to  "  flourish  in  im 
mortal  youth,"  and  will  continue  to  play  the  Eomeos  and  Ean- 
gers  for  half  a  century  together. 

Master  Simon,  too,  is  a  little  of  the  chameleon,  and  takes  a 
different  hue  with  every  different  companion  :  he  is  very  attentive 
and  officious,  and  somewhat  sentimental,  with  Lady  Lillycraft ; 
copies  out  little  namby-pamby  ditties  and  love-songs  for  her,  and 
draws  quivers,  and  doves,  and  darts,  and  Cupids  to  be  worked  on 
the  corners  of  her  pocket-handkerchiefs.  He  indulges,  however, 
in  very  considerable  latitude  with  the  other  married  ladies  of  the 
family ;  and  has  many  sly  pleasantries  to  whisper  to  them,  that 
provoke  an  equivocal  laugh  and  a  tap  of  the  fan.  But  when  he 
gets  among  young  company,  such  as  Frank  Bracebridge,  the  Ox 
onian,  and  the  general,  he  is  apt  to  put  on  the  mad  wag,  and  to 
talk  in  a  very  bachelor-like  strain  about  the  sex. 

In  this  he  has  been  encouraged  by  the  example  of  the  gene 
ral,  whom  he  looks  up  to  as  a  man  that  has  seen  the  world.  The 
general,  in  fact,  tells  shocking  stories  after  dinner,  when  the 
ladies  have  retired,  which  he  gives  as  some  of  the  choice  things 
that  are  served  up  at  the  Mulligatawney  club ;  a  knot  of  boon 
companions  in  London.  He  also  repeats  the  fat  jokes  of  old  Ma 
jor  Pendergast,  the  wit  of  the  club,  and  which,  though  the  gen 
tleman  can  hardly  repeat  them  for  laughing,  always  make  Mr. 
Bracebridge  look  grave,  he  having  a  great  antipathy  to  an  inde 
cent  jest.  In  a  word,  the  general  is  a  complete  instance  of  the 


64  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

declension  in  gay  life,  by  which  a  young  man  of  pleasure  is  apt 
to  cool  down  into  an  obscene  old  gentleman. 

I  saw  him  and  Master  Simon,  an  evening  or  two  since,  con 
versing  with  a  buxom  milkmaid  in  a  meadow ;  and  from  their 
elbowing  each  other  now  and  then,  and  the  general's  shaking  his 
shoulders,  blowing  up  his  cheeks,  and  breaking  out  into  a  short 
fit  of  irrepressible  laughter,  I  had  no  doubt  they  were  playing  the 
mischief  with  the  girl. 

As  I  looked  at  them  through  a  hedge,  I  could  not  but  think 
they  would  have  made  a  tolerable  group  for  a  modern  picture  of 
Susannah  and  the  two  elders.  It  is  true,  the  girl  seemed  in  no 
wise  alarmed  at  the  force  of  the  enemy;  and  I  question,  had 
either  of  them  been  alone,  whether  she  would  not  have  been  more 
than  they  would  have  ventured  to  encounter.  Such  veteran  roys- 
ters  are  daring  wags  when  together,  and  will  put  any  female  to 
the  blush  with  their  jokes ;  but  they  are  as  quiet  as  lambs  when 
they  fall  singly  into  the  clutches  of  a  fine  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  general's  years,  he  evidently  is  a  little  vain  of 
his  person,  and  ambitious  of  conquests.  I  have  observed  him  on 
Sunday  in  church,  eyeing  the  country  girls  most  suspiciously ; 
and  have  seen  him  leer  upon  them  with  a  downright  amorous  look, 
even  when  he  has  been  gallanting  Lady  Lillycraft,  with  great 
ceremony,  through  the  church-yard.  The  general,  in  fact,  is  a 
veteran  in  the  service  of  Cupid  rather  than  of  Mars,  having  sig 
nalized  himself  in  all  the  garrison  towns  and  country  quarters, 
and  seen  service  in  every  ball-room  df  England.  Not  a  celebra 
ted  beauty  but  he  has  laid  siege  to ;  and  if  his  word  may  be 
taken  in  a  matter  wherein  no  man  is  apt  to  be  over-veracious,  it 
is  incredible  the  success  he  has  had  with  the  fair.  At  present  he 
is  like  a  worn-out  warrior,  retired  from  service ;  but  who  still 


BACHELORS.  65 

cocks  his  beaver  with  a  military  air,  and  talks  stoutly  of  fighting 
whenever  he  comes  within  the  smell  of  gunpowder. 

I  have  heard  him  speak  his  mind  very  freely  over  his  bottle, 
about  the  folly  of  the  captain  in  taking  a  Avife ;  as  he  thinks  a 
young  soldier  should  care  for  nothing  but  his  "  bottle  and  kind 
landlady."  But,  in  fact,  he  says,  the  service  on  the  continent  has 
had  a  sad  effect  upon  the  ycung  men  ;  they  have  been  ruined  by 
light  wines  and  French  quadrilles.  "  They've  nothing,"  he  says, 
"  of  the  spirit  of  the  old  service.  There  are  none  of  your  six- 
bottle  men  left,  that  were  the  souls  of  a  mess-dinner,  and  used  to 
play  the  very  deuce  among  the  women." 

As  to  a  bachelor,  the  general  affirms  that  he  is  a  free  and 
easy  man,  with  no  baggage  to  take  care  of  but  his  portmanteau ; 
but  a  married  man,  with  his  wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  always  puts 
him  in  mind  of  a  chamber-candlestick,  with  its  extinguisher  hitched 
to  it.  I  should  not  mind  ah1  this  if  it  were  merely  confined  to  the 
general ;  but  I  fear  he  will  be  the  ruin  of  my  friend.  Master 
Simon,  who  already  begins  to  echo  his  heresies,  and  to  talk  in  the 
style  of  a  gentleman  that  has  seen  life,  and  lived  upon  the  town. 
Indeed,  the  general  seems  to  have  taken  Master  Simon  in  hand, 
and  talks  of  showing  him  the  lions  when  he  comes  to  town,  and 
of  introducing  him  to  a  knot  of  choice  spirits  at  the  Mulligataw- 
ney  club  ;  which,  I  understand,  is  composed  of  old  nabobs,  officers 
in  the  company's  employ,  and  other  "  men  of  Ind,"  that  have  seen 
service  in  the  East,  and  returned  home  burnt  out  with  curry,  and 
touched  with  the  liver  complaint.  They  have  their  regular  club, 
where  they  eat  Mulligatawney  soup,  smoke  the  hookah,  talk  abo#t 
Tippoo  Saib,  Seringapatam,  and  tiger-hunting ;  and  are  tediously 
agreeable  in  each  other's  company. 


WIVES. 

Believe  me,  man,  there  is  no  greater  blisse 
Than  is  the  quiet  joy  of  loving  wife ; 
Which  -whoso  wants,  half  of  himselfe  doth  misse ; 
Friend  without  change,  playfellow  without  strife; 
Food  without  fulnesse,  counsailo  without  pride, 
Is  this  sweet  doubling  of  our  single  life. 

SIE  P.  SIDNEY. 

THERE  is  so  much  talk  about  matrimony  going  on  around  me,  in 
consequence  of  the  approaching  event  for  which  we  are  assembled 
at  the  Hall,  that  I  confess  I  find  my  thoughts  singularly  exercised 
on  the  subject.  Indeed,  all  the  bachelors  of  the  establishment 
seem  to  be  passing  through  a  kind  of  fiery  ordeal ;  for  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  is  one  of  those  tender,  romance-read  dames  of  the  old  school, 
whose  mind  is  filled  with  flames  and  darts,  and  who  breathe 
nothing  but  constancy  and  wedlock.  She  is  for  ever  immersed  in 
the  concerns  of  the  heart ;  and  to  use  a  poetical  phrase,  is  per 
fectly  surrounded  by  "  the  purple  light  of  love."  The  very  gene 
ral  seems  to  feel  the  influence  of  this  sentimental  atmosphere ;  to 
melt  as  he  approaches  her  ladyship,  and,  for  the  time,  to  forget 
a?l  his  heresies  about  matrimony  and  the  sex. 

The  good  lady  is  generally  surrounded  by  little  documents  of 
her  prevalent  taste  ;  novels  of  a  tender  nature ;  richly-bound  little 
books  of  poetry,  that  are  filled  with  sonnets  and  love  tales,  and 


WIVES.  67 

perfumed  with  rose-leaves ;  and  she  has  always  an  album  at  hand, 
for  which  she  claims  the  contributions  of  all  her  friends.  On 
looking  over  this  last  repository  the  other  day,  I  found  a  series  of 
poetical  extracts,  in  the  Squire's  handwriting,  which  might  have 
been  intended  as  matrimonial  hints  to  his  ward.  I  was  so  much 
struck  with  several  of  them,  that  I  took  the  liberty  of  copying 
them  out.  They  are  from  the  old  play  of  Thomas  Davenport, 
published  in  1661,  entitled  "The  City  Night-Cap ;"  in  which  is 
drawn  out  and  exemplified,  in  the  part  of  Abstemia,  the  character 
of  a  patient  and  faithful  wife,  which  I  think  might  vie  with  that 
of  the  renowned  Griselda. 

I  have  often  thought  it  a  pity  that  plays  and  novels  should 
always  end  at  the  wedding,  and  should  not  give  us  another  act, 
and  another  volume,  to  let  us  know  how  the  hero  and  heroine 
conducted  themselves  when  married.  Their  main  object  seems  to 
be  merely  to  instruct  young  ladies  how  to  get  husbands,  but  not 
how  to  keep  them :  now  this  last,  I  speak  it  with  all  due  diffi 
dence,  appears  to  me  to  be  a  desideratum  in  modern  married  life. 
It  is  appalling  to  those  who  have  not  yet  adventured  into  the  holy 
state,  to  see  how  soon  the  flame  of  romantic  love  burns  out,  or 
rather  is  quenched  in  matrimony ;  and  how  deplorably  the  pas 
sionate  poetic  lover  declines  into  the  phlegmatic,  prosaic  husband. 
I  am  inclined  to  attribute  this  very  much  to  the  defect  just  men 
tioned  in  the  plays  and  novels,  which  form  so  important  a  branch 
of  study  of  our  young  ladies ;  and  which  teach  them  how  to  be 
heroines,  but  leave  them  totally  at  a  loss  when  they  come  to  be 
wives.  The  play  from  which  the  quotations  before  me  were  made, 
however,  is  an  exception  to  this  remark ;  and  I  cannot  refuse  my 
self  the  pleasure  of  adducing  some  of  them  for  the  benefit  of  the 
reader,  and  for  the  honor  of  an  old  writer,  Avho  has  bravely  at- 


68  BRACEBEIDGE   HAIX. 

tempted  to  awaken  dramatic  interest  in  favor  of  a  woman,  even 
after  she  was  married ! 

The  following  is  a  commendation  of  Abstemia  to  her  husband 
Lorenzo : 

She's  modest,  but  not  sullen,  and  loves  silence ; 

Not  that  she  wants  apt  words,  (for  when  she  speaks, 

She  inflames  love  with  wonder,)  hut  because 

She  calls  wise  silence  the  soul's  harmony. 

She's  truly  chaste  ;  yet  such  a  foe  to  coyness, 

The  poorest  call  her  courteous ;  and  which  is  excellent, 

(Though  fair  and  young)  she  shuns  to  expose  herself 

To  the  opinion  of  strange  eyes.     She  either  seldom 

Or  never  walks  abroad  in  your  company. 

And  then  with  such  sweet  bashfulness,  as  if 

She  were  venturing  on  crack'd  ice,  and  takes  delight 

To  step  into  the  print  your  foot  hath  made, 

And  will  follow  you  whole  fields ;  so  she  will  drive 

Tediousness  out  of  time  with  her  sweet  character. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  excellence,  Abstemia  had  the  misfor 
tune  to  incur  the  unmerited  jealousy  of  her  husband.  Instead, 
however,  of  resenting  his  harsh  treatment  with  clamorous  upbraid- 
ings,  and  with  the  stormy  violence  of  high,  windy  virtue,  by 
which  the  sparks  of  anger  are  so  often  blown  into  a  flame,  she  en 
dures  it  with  the  meekness  of  conscious,  but  patient  virtue ;  and 
makes  the  following  beautiful  appeal  to  a  friend  who  has  wit 
nessed  her  long-suffering : 


Hast  thou  not  seen  me 


Bear  all  his  injuries,  as  the  ocean  suffers 

The  angry  bark  to  plough  thorough  her  bosom, 

And  yet  is  presently  so  smooth,  the  eye 

Cannot  perceive  where  the  wide  wound  was  made  ? 


WIVES.  69 

Lorenzo,  being  wrought  on  by  false  representations,  at  length 
repudiates  her.  To  the  last,  however,  she  maintains  her  patient 
sweetness,  and  her  love  for  him,  in  spite  of  his  cruelty.  She  de 
plores  his  error,  even  more  than  his  unkindness ;  and  laments  the 
delusion  which  has  turned  his  very  affection  into  a  source  of  bit 
terness.  There  is  a  moving  pathos  in  her  parting  address  to  Lo 
renzo  after  their  divorce : 

Farewell,  Lorenzo, 


Whom  my  soul  doth  love :  if  you  e'er  marry, 
May  you  meet  a  good  wife,  so  good  that  you 
May  not  suspect  her,  nor  may  she  be  worthy 
Of  your  suspicion :  and  if  you  hear  hereafter 
That  I  am  dead,  inquire  but  my  last  words, 
And  you  shall  know  that  to  the  last  I  loved  you. 
And  when  you  walk  forth  with  your  second  choice 
Into  the  pleasant  fields,  and  by  chance  talk  of  me, 
Imagine  that  you  see  me,  lean  and  pale, 

Strewing  your  path  with  flowers 

But  may  she  never  live  to  pay  my  debts : 

If  but  in  thought  she  wrong  you,  may  she  die 

In  the  conception  of  the  injury. 

Pray  make  me  wealthy  with  one  kiss  :  farewell,  sir : 

Let  it  not  grieve  you  when  you  shall  remember 

That  I  was  innocent :  nor  this  forget, 

Though  innocence  here  suffer,  sigh,  and  groan, 

She  walks  but  thorow  thorns  to  find  a  throne. 

In  a  short  time  Lorenzo  discovers  his  error,  and  the  innocence 
of  his  injured  wife.  In  the  transports  of  his  repentance,  he  calls 
to  mind  all  her  feminine  excellence ;  her  gentle,  uncomplaining, 
womanly  fortitude  under  wrongs  and  sorrows : 


70  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


Oh  Abstemia ! 


How  lovely  thou  lookest  now !  now  thou  appearest 
Chaster  than  is  the  morning's  modesty 
That  rises  with  a  blush,  over  whose  bosom 
The  western  wind  creeps  softly ;  now  I  remember 
How,  when  she  sat  at  table,  her  obedient  eye 
Would  dwell  on  mine,  as  if  it  were  not  well, 
Unless  it  look'd  where  I  look'd  :  oh  how  proud 
She  was,  when  she  could  cross  herself  to  please  me ! 
But  where  now  is  this  fair  soul  ?     Like  a  silver  cloud 
She  hath  wept  herself,  I  fear,  into  the  dead  sea, 
And  will  be  found  no  more. 

It  is  but  doing  right  by  the  reader,  if  interested  in  the  fate  of 
Abstemia  by  the  preceding  extracts,  to  say,  that  she  was  restored 
to  the  arms  and  affections  of  her  husband,  rendered  fonder  than 
ever,  by  that  disposition  in  every  good  heart  to  atone  for  past  in 
justice,  by  an  overflowing  measure  of  returning  kindness : 

Thou  wealth  worth  more  than  kingdoms  ;  I  am  now 

Confirmed  past  all  suspicion ;  thou  art  far 

Sweeter  in  thy  sincere  truth  than  a  sacrifice 

Deck'd  up  for  death  with  garlands.     The  Indian  winds 

That  blow  from  off  the  coast,  and  cheer  the  sailor 

With  the  sweet  savor  of  their  spices,  want 

The  delight  flows  in  thee. 

I  have  been  more  affected  and  interested  by  this  little  dra 
matic  picture  than  by  many  a  popular  love  tale ;  though,  as  I 
said  before,  I  do  not  think  it  likely  either  Abstemia  or  patient 
Grizzle  stands  much  chance  of  being  taken  for  a  model.  Still  I 
like  to  see  poetry  now  and  then  extending  its  views  beyond  the 
wedding  day,  and  teaching  a  lady  how  to  make  herself  attractive 


WIVES.  71 

% 

even  after  marriage.  There  is  no  great  need  of  enforcing  on  an 
unmarried  lady  the  necessity  of  being  agreeable ;  nor  is  there  any 
great  art  requisite  in  a  youthful  beauty  to  enable  her  to  please. 
Nature  has  multiplied  attractions  around  her.  Youth  is  in  itself 
attractive.  The  freshness  of  budding  beauty  needs  no  foreign  aid 
to  set  it  off;  it  pleases  merely  because  it  is  fresh,  and  budding, 
and  beautiful.  But  it  is  for  the  married  state  that  a  woman 
needs  the  most  instruction,  and  in  which  she  should  be  most  on 
her  guard  to  maintain  her  powers  of  pleasing.  No  woman  can 
expect  to  be  to  her  husband  all  that  he  fancied  her  when  he  was 
a  lover.  Men  are  always  doomed  to  be  duped,  not  so  much  by 
the  arts  of  the  sex,  as  by  their  own  imaginations.  They  are 
always  wooing  goddesses,  and  marrying  mere  mortals.  A  woman 
should  therefore  ascertain  what  Avas  the  charm  which  rendered 
her  so  fascinating  when  a  girl,  and  endeavor  to  keep  it  up  when 
she  has  become  a  wife.  One  great  thing  undoubtedly  was,  the 
chariness  of  herself  and  her  conduct,  which  an  unmarried  female 
always  observes.  She  should  maintain  the  same  niceness  and  re 
serve  in  her  person  and  habits,  and  endeavor  still  to  preserve  a 
freshness  and  virgin  delicacy  in  the  eye  of  her  husband.  She 
should  remember  that  the  province  of  Avoman  is  to  be  Avooed,  not 
to  woo ;  to  be  caressed,  not  to  caress.  Man  is  an  ungrateful 
being  in  love ;  bounty  loses  instead  of  winning  him.  The  secret 
of  a  Avoman's  power  does  not  consist  so  much  in  giving,  as  in 
withholding.  A  woman  may  give  up  too  much  even  to  her  hus 
band.  It  is  to  a  thousand  little  delicacies  of  conduct  that  she 
must  trust  to  keep  alive  passion,  and  to  protect  herself  from  that 
dangerous  familiarity,  that  thorough  acquaintance  Avith  every 
weakness  and  imperfection  incident  to  matrimony.  By  these 
means  she  may  still  maintain  her  pOAver,  though  she  has  surren- 


72  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

dered  her  person,  and  may  continue  the  romance  of  love  even 
beyond  the  honey-moon. 

"  She  that  hath  a  wise  husband,"  says  Jeremy  Taylor,  "  must 
entice  him  to  an  eternal  dearnesse  by  the  veil  of  modesty,  and 
the  grave  robes  of  chastity,  the  ornament  of  meeknesse,  and  the 
jewels  of  faith  and  charity.  She  must  have  no  painting  but 
blushings ;  her  brightness  must  be  purity,  and  she  must  shine 
round  about  with  sweetnesses  and  friendship ;  and  she  shall  be 
pleasant  while  she  lives,  and  desired  when  she  dies." 

I  have  wandered  into  a  rambling  series  of  remarks  on  a  trite 
subject,  and  a  dangerous  one  for  a  bachelor  to  meddle  with.  That 
I  may  not,  however,  appear  to  confine  my  observations  entirely  to 
the  wife,  I  will  conclude  with  another  quotation  from  Jeremy 
Taylor,  in  which  the  duties  of  both  parties  are  mentioned  ;  while 
I  would  recommend  his  sermon  on  the  marriage  ring  to  all  those 
who,  wiser  than  myself,  are  about  entering  the  happy  state  of 
wedlock. 

"  There  is  scarce  any  matter  of  duty  but  it  concerns  them 
both  alike,  and  is  only  distinguished  by  names,  and  hath  its  va 
riety  by  circumstances  and  little  accidents :  and  what  in  one  is 
called  love,  in  the  other  is  called  reverence ;  and  what  in  the  wife 
is  obedience,  the  same  in  the  man  is  duty.  He  provides,  and  she 
dispenses ;  he  gives  commandments,  and  she  rules  by  them ;  he 
rules  her  by  authority,  and  she  rules  him  by  love ;  she  ought  by 
.  all  means  to  please  him,  and  he  must  by  no  means  displease 


STORY-TELLING. 

A  FAVORITE  evening  pastime  at  the  Hall,  and  one  which  the  wor 
thy  Squire  is  fond  of  promoting,  is  story-telling,  "  a  good  old- 
fashioned  fireside  amusement,"  as  he  terms  it.  Indeed,  I  believe 
he  promotes  it  chiefly  because  it  was  one  of  the  choice  recrea 
tions  in  those  days  of  yore,  when  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  not 
much  in  the  habit  of  reading.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  will  often, 
at  supper  table,  when  conversation  flags,  call  on  some  one  or  other 
of  the  company  for  a  story,  as  it  was  formerly  the  custom  to  call 
for  a  song ;  and  it  is  edifying  to  see  the  exemplary  patience, 
and  even  satisfaction,  with  which  the  good  old  gentleman  will  sit 
and  listen  to  some  hackneyed  tale  that  he  has  heard  for  at  least 
a  hundred  times. 

In  this  way  one  evening  the  current  of  anecdotes  and  stories 
ran  upon  mysterious  personages  that  have  figured  at  different 
times,  and  filled  the  world  with  doubts  and  conjecture ;  such  as 
the  Wandering  Jew,  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,  who  tormented 
the  curiosity  of  all  Europe ;  the  Invisible  Girl,  and  last,  though 
not  least,  the  Pigfaced  Lady. 

At  length  one  of  the  company  was  called  upon  who  had  the 

most  unpromising  physiognomy  for  a  story-teller  that  ever  I  had 

seen.    He  was  a  thin,  pale,  weazen-faced  man,  extremely  nervous, 

who  had  sat  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  shrunk  up,  as  it  were, 

4 


V4  BEACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

into  himself,  and  almost  swallowed  up  in  the  cape  of  his  coat,  as 
a  turtle  in  its  shell. 

The  very  demand  seemed  to  throw  him  into  a  nervous  agita 
tion,  yet  he  did  not  refuse.  He  emerged  his  head  out  of  his  shell, 
made  a  few  odd  grimaces  and  gesticulations,  before  he  could  get 
his  muscles  into  order,  or  his  voice  under  command,  and  then 
offered  to  give  some  account  of  a  mysterious  personage  whom  he 
had  recently  encountered  in  the  course  of  his  travels,  and  one 
whom  he  thought  fully  entitled  of  being  classed  with  the  Man 
with  the  Iron  Mask. 

I  was  so  much  struck  with  his  extraordinary  narrative,  that  I 
have  written  it  out  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  for  the  amuse 
ment  of  the  reader.  I  think  it  has  in  it  all  the  elements  of  that 
mysterious  and  romantic  narrative,  so  greedily  sought  after  at 
the  present  day. 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 

A   STAGE-COACH   ROMANCE. 

I'll  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me  1 

HAMLET. 

IT  was  a  rainy  Sunday  in  the  gloomy  month  of  November.  1 
had  been  detained,  in  the  course  of  a  journey,  by  a  slight  indis 
position,  from  which  I  was  recovering ;  but  was  still  feverish,  and 
obliged  to  keep  within  doors  all  day,  in  an  inn  of  the  small  town 
of  Derby.  A  wet  Sunday  in  a  country  inn ! — whoever  has  had 
the  luck  to  experience  one  can  alone  judge  of  my  situation.  The 
rain  pattered  against  the  casements ;  the  bells  tolled  for  church 
with  a  melancholy  sound.  I  went  to  the  windows  in  quest  of 
something  to  amuse  the  eye ;  but  it  seemed  as  if  I  had  been 
placed  completely  out  of  the  reach  of  all  amusement.  The  win 
dows  of  my  bedroom  looked  out  among  tiled  roofs  and  stacks  of 
chimneys,  while  those  of  my  sitting-room  commanded  a  full  view 
of  the  stable-yard.  I  know  of  nothing  more  calculated  to  make 
a  man  sick  of  this  world  than  a  stable-yard  on  a  rainy  day.  The 
place  was  littered  with  wet  straw  that  had  been  kicked  about  by 
travellers  and  stable-boys.  In  one  corner  was  a  stagnant  pool  of 
water,  surrounding  an  island  of  muck ;  there  were  several  half- 
drowned  fowls  crowded  together  under  a  cart,  among  which  was 


76  BRACEBEIDGE  HALL. 

a  miserable,  crest-fallen  cock,  drenched  out  of  all  life  and  spirit ; 
his  drooping  tail  matted,  as  it  were,  into  a  single  feather,  along 
which  the  water  trickled  from  his  back ;  near  the  cart  was  a  half- 
dozing  cow,  chewing  the  cud,  and  standing  patiently  to  be  rained 
on,  with  wreaths  of  vapor  rising  from  her  reeking  hide  ;  a  wall 
eyed  horse,  tired  of  the  loneliness  of  the  stable,  was  poking  his 
spectral  head  out  of  a  window,  with  the  rain  dripping  on  it  from 
the  eaves;  an  unhappy  cur,  chained  to  a  doghouse  hard  by, 
uttered  something  every  now  and  then,  between  a  bark  and  a 
yelp;  a  drab  of  a  kitchen  wench  tramped  backwards  and  for 
wards  through  the  yard  in  pattens,  looking  as  sulky  as  the  weather 
itself;  every  thing,  in  short,  was  comfortless  and  forlorn,  except 
ing  a  crew  of  hardened  ducks,  assembled  like  boon  companions 
round  a  puddle,  and  making  a  riotous  noise  over  their  liquor. 

I  was  lonely  and  listless,  and  wanted  amusement.  My  room 
soon  became  insupportable.  I  abandoned  it,  and  sought  what  is 
technically  called  the  travellers' -room.  This  is  a  public  room  set 
apart  at  most  inns  for  the  accommodation  of  a  class  of  wayfarers, 
called  travellers,  or  riders ;  a  kind  of  commercial  knights-errant, 
who  are  incessantly  scouring  the  kingdom  in  gigs,  on  horseback, 
or  by  coach.  They  are  the  only  successors  that  I  know  of  at  the 
present  day  to  the  knights-errant  of  yore.  They  lead  the  same 
kind  of  roving,  adventurous  life,  only  changing  the  lance  for  a 
driving- whip,  the  buckler  for  a  pattern-card,  and  the  coat  of  mail 
for  an  upper  Benjamin.  Instead  of  vindicating  the  charms  of 
peerless  beauty,  they  rove  about,  spreading  the  fame  and  standing 
of  some  substantial  tradesman,  or  manufacturer,  and  are  ready  at 
any  time  to  bargain  in  his  name ;  it  being  the  fashion  nowadays 
to  trade,  instead  of  fight,  with  one  another.  As  the  room  of  the 
hostel,  in  the  good  old  fighting  tunes,  would  be  hung  round  at 


TsTEW  YCEK.  &  P.  PUTHAOVl". 


THE   STOUT   GENTLEMAN.  77 

night  with  the  armor  of  way-worn  warriors,  such  as  coats  of 
mail,  falchions,  and  yawning  helmets ;  so  the  travellers' -room  is 
garnishel  with  the  harnessing  of  their  successors,  with  box-coats, 
whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs,  gaiters,  and  oil-cloth  covered  hats. 

I  was  in  hopes  of  finding  some  of  these  worthies  to  talk  with, 
but  was  disappointed.  There  were,  indeed,  two  or  three  in  the 
room ;  but  I  could  make  nothing  of  them.  One  was  just  finish 
ing  his  breakfast,  quarrelling  with  his  bread  and  butter,  and 
huffing  the  waiter ;  another  buttoned  on  a  pair  of  gaiters,  with 
many  execrations  at  Boots  for  not  having  cleaned  his  shoes  well ; 
a  third  sat  drumming  on  the  table  with  his  fingers  and  looking  at 
the  rain  as  it  streamed  down  the  window-glass  ;  they  all  appeared 
infected  by  the  weather,  and  disappeared,  one  after  the  other, 
without  exchanging  a  word. 

I  sauntered  to  the  window,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  people, 
picking  their  way  (to  church,  with  petticoats  hoisted  midleg  high, 
and  dripping  umbrellas.  The  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  the  streets 
became  silent.  I  then  amused  myself  with  watching  the  daugh 
ters  of  a  tradesman  opposite ;  who,  being  confined  to  the  house 
for  fear  of  wetting  their  Sunday  finery,  played  off  their  charms  at 
the  front  windows,  to  fascinate  the  chance  tenants  of  the  inn. 
They  at  length  were  summoned  away  by  a  vigilant  vinegar-faced 
mother,  and  I  had  nothing  further  from  without  to  amuse  me. 

What  was  I  to  do  to  pass  away  the  long-lived  day  ?  I  was 
sadly  nervous  and  lonely ;  and  every  thing  about  an  inn  seems 
calculated  to  make  a  dull  day  ten  times  duller.  Old  newspapers, 
smelling  of  beer  and  tobacco  smoke,  and  which  I  had  already 
read  half  a  dozen  times.  Good-for-nothing  books,  that  were  worse 
than  rainy  weather.  I  bored  myself  to  death  with  an  old  volume 
of  the  Lady's  Magazine.  I  read  all  the  commonplace  names 


78  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

of  ambitious  travellers  scrawled  on  the  panes  of  glass ;  the  eter 
nal  families  of  the  Smiths,  and  the  Browns,  and  the  Jacksons, 
and  the  Johnsons,  and  all  the  other  sons ;  and  I  deciphered  sev 
eral  scraps  of  fatiguing  in-window  poetry  which  I  have  met  with 
in  all  parts  of  the  world. 

The  day  continued  lowering  and  gloomy ;  the  slovenly,  rag 
ged,  spongy  clouds  drifted  heavily  along ;  there  was  no  variety 
even  in  the  rain :  it  was  one  dull,  continued,  monotonous  patter — 
patter — patter,  excepting  that  now  and  then  I  was  enlivened  by 
the  idea  of  a  brisk  shower,  from  the  rattling  of  the  drops  upon  a 
passing  umbrella. 

It  was  quite  refreshing  (if  I  may  be  allowed  a  hackneyed 
phrase  of  the  day)  when,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  a  horn 
blew,  and  a  stage-coach  whirled  through  the  street,  with  outside 
passengers  stuck  all  over  it,  cowering  under  cotton  umbrellas, 
and  seethed  together,  and  reeking  with  the  steams  of  wet  box- 
coats  and  upper  Benjamins. 

The  sound  brought  out  from  their  lurking-places  a  crew  of 
vagabond  boys,  and  vagabond  dogs,  and  the  carroty-headed 
hostler,  and  that  nondescript  animal  ycleped  Boots,  and  all  the 
other  vagabond  race  that  infest  the  purlieus  of  an  inn ;  but  the 
bustle  was  transient ;  the  coach  again  whirled  on  its  way ;  and 
boy  and  dog,  and  hostler  and  Boots,  all  slunk  back  again  to  their 
holes ;  the  street  again  became  silent,  and  the  rain  continued  to 
rain  on.  In  fact,  there  was  no  hope  of  its  clearing  up ;  the 
barometer  pointed  to  rainy  weather ;  mine  hostess'  tortoise-shell 
cat  sat  by  the  fire  washing  her  face,  and  rubbing  her  paws  over 
her  ears ;  and,  on  referring  to  the  Almanac,  I  found  a  direful  pre 
diction  stretching  from  the  top  of  the  page  to  the  bottom  through 
the  whole  month,  "  expect — much — rain — about — this — tune !  " 


THE   STOUT   GENTLEMAN.  79 

I  was  dreadfully  hipped.  The  hours  seemed  as  if  they  would 
never  creep  by.  The  very  ticking  of  the  clock  became  irksome. 
At  length  the  stillness  of  the  house  was  interrupted  by  the  ring 
ing  of  a  bell.  Shortly  after  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  waiter  at  the 
bar  :  "  The  stout  gentleman  in  No.  13,  wants  his  breakfast.  Tea 
and  bread  and  butter,  with  ham  and  eggs  ;  the  eggs  not  to  be  too 
much  done." 

In  such  a  situation  as  mine,  every  incident  is  of  importance. 
Here  was  a  subject  of  speculation  presented  to  my  mind,  and 
ample  exercise  for  my  imagination.  I  am  prone  to  paint  pictures 
to  myself,  and  on  this  occasion  I  had  some  materials  to  work 
upon.  Had  the  guest  up  stairs  been  mentioned  as  Mr.  Smith,  or 
Mr.  Brown,  or  Mr.  Jackson,  or  Mr.  Johnson,  or  merely  as  "  the 
gentleman  in  No.  13,"  it  would  have  been  a  perfect  blank  to  me. 
I  should  have  thought  nothing  of  it ;  but  "  The  stout  gentle 
man  !  " — the  very  name  had  something  in  it  of  the  picturesque. 
It  at  once  gave  the  size  ;  it  embodied  the  personage  to  my  mind's 
eye,  and  my  fancy  did  the  rest. 

He  was  stout,  or,  as  some  term  it,  lusty ;  in  all  probability, 
therefore,  he  was  advanced  in  life,  some  people  expanding  as  they 
grow  old.  By  his  breakfasting  rather  late,  and  in  his  own  room, 
he  must  be  a  man  accustomed  to  live  at  his  ease,  and  above  the 
necessity  of  early  rising  ;  no  doubt  a  round,  rosy,  lusty  old  gen 
tleman. 

There  was  another  violent  ringing.  The  stout  gentleman 
was  impatient  for  his  breakfast.  He  was  evidently  a  man  of  im 
portance  ;  "  well  to  do  in  the  world  ; "  accustomed  to  be  promptly 
waited  upon  ;  of  a  keen  appetite,  and  a  little  cross  when  hungry  ; 
"  perhaps,"  thought  I,  "  he  may  be  some  London  Alderman  ;  or 
who  knows  but  he  may  be  a  Member  of  Parliament  ?  " 


80  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

The  breakfast  was  sent  up,  and  there  was  a  short  interval  of 
silence  ;  he  was,  doubtless,  making  the  tea.  Presently  there  was 
a  violent  ringing ;  and  before  it  could  be  answered,  another  ring 
ing  still  more  violent.  "  Bless  me-!  what  a  choleric  old  gentle 
man  !  "  The  waiter  came  down  in  a  huff.  The  butter  was  ran 
cid,  the  eggs  were  over-done,  the  ham  was  too  salt ; — the  stout 
gentleman  was  evidently  nice  in  his  eating ;  one  of  those  who  eat 
and  growl,  and  keep  the  waiter  on  the  trot,  and  live  in  a  state 
militant  with  the  household. 

The  hostess  got  into  a  fume.  I  should  observe  that  she  was 
a  brisk,  coquettish  woman ;  a  little  of  a  shrew,  and  something  of 
a  slammerkin,  but  very  pretty  withal ;  with  a  nincompoop  for  a 
husband,  as  shrews  are  apt  to  have.  She  rated  the  servants 
roundly  for  their  negligence  in  sending  up  so  bad  a  breakfast, 
but  said  not  a  word  against  the  stout  gentleman ;  by  which  I 
clearly  perceived  that  he  must  be  a  man  of  consequence,  entitled 
to  make  a  noise  and  to  give  trouble  at  a  country  inn.  Other 
eggs,  and  ham,  and  bread  and  butter  were  sent  up.  They  ap 
peared  to  be  more  graciously  received  ;  at  least  there  was  no  fur 
ther  complaint. 

I  had  not  made  many  turns  about  the  travellers' -room,  when 
there  was  another  ringing.  Shortly  afterwards  there  was  a  stir 
and  an  inquest  about  the  house.  The  stout  gentleman  wanted 
the  Times  or  the  Chronicle  newspaper.  I  set  him  down,  there 
fore,  for  a  whig ;  or  rather,  from  his  being  so  absolute  and  lordly 
where  he  had  a  chance,  I  suspected  him  of  being  a  radical. 
Hunt,  I  had  heard,  was  a  large  man ;  "  who  knows,"  thought  I, 
"but  it  is  Hunt  himself!" 

My  curiosity  began  to  be  awakened.  I  inquired  of  the  waiter 
who  was  this  stout  gentleman  that  was  making  all  this  stir ;  but 


THE    STOUT   GENTLEMAN.  81 

I  could  get  no  information :  nobody  seemed  to  know  his  name. 
The  landlords  of  bustling  inns  seldom  trouble  their  heads  about 
the  names  or  occupations  of  their  transient  guests.  The  color  of 
a  coat,  the  shape  or  size  of  the  person,  is  enough  to  suggest  a 
travelling  name.  It  is  either  the  tall  gentleman,  or  the  short 
gentleman,  or  the  gentleman  in  black,  or  the  gentleman  in  snuff- 
color;  or,  as  in  the  present  instance,  the  stout  gentleman.  A 
designation  of  the  kind  once  hit  on  answers  every  purpose,  and 
saves  all  further  inquiry. 

Eain — rain — rain!  pitiless,  ceaseless  rain!  No  such  thing 
as  putting  a  foot  out  of  doors,  and  no  occupation  nor  amusement 
within.  By  and  by  I  heard  some  one  walking  over  head.  It 
was  in  the  stout  gentleman's  room.  He  evidently  was  a  large 
man  by  the  heaviness  of  his  tread ;  and  an  old  man  from  his 
wearing  such  creaking  soles.  "He  is  doubtless,"  thought  I, 
"  some  rich  old  square-toes  of  regular  habits,  and  is  now  taking 
exercise  after  breakfast." 

I  now  read  all  the  advertisements  of  coaches  and  hotels  that 
were  stuck  about  the  mantelpiece.  The  Lady's  Magazine  had 
become  an  abomination  to  me ;  it  was  as  tedious  as  the  day 
itself.  I  wandered  out,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  and  ascended 
again  to  my  room.  I  had  not  been  there  long,  when  there  was  a 
squall  from  a  neighboring  bedroom.  A  door  opened  and  slammed 
violently ;  a'  chambermaid,  that  I  had  remarked  for  having  a 
ruddy,  good-humored  face,  went  down  stairs  in  a  violent  flurry. 
The  stout  gentleman  had  been  rude  to  her ! 

This  sent  a  whole  host  of  my  deductions  to  the  deuce  in  a 
moment.  This  unknown  personage  could  not  be  an  old  gentle 
man  ;  for  old  gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  be  so  obstreperous  to 
chambermaids.  He  could  not  be  a  young  gentleman  ;  for  young 
4* 


82  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

gentlemen  are  not  apt  to  inspire  such  indignation.     He  must  be 
a  middle-aged  man,  and  confounded  ugly  into  the  bargain,  or  the ' 
girl  would  not  have  taken  the  matter  in  such  terrible  dudgeon. 
I  confess  I  was  sorely  puzzled. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  landlady.  I  caught 
a  glance  of  her  as  she  came  tramping  up  stairs ;  her  face  glow 
ing,  her  cap  flaring,  her  tongue  wagging  the  whole  way.  "  She'd 
have  no  such  doings  in  her  house,  she'd  warrant.  If  gentlemen 
did  spend  money  freely,  it  was  no  rule.  She'd  have  no  servant 
maids  of  hers  treated  in  that  way,  when  they  were  about  their 
work,  that's  what  she  wouldn't." 

As  I  hate  squabbles,  particularly  with  women,  and  above  all 
with  pretty  women,  I  slunk  back  into  my  room,  and  partly  closed 
the  door ;  but  my  curiosity  was  too  much  excited  not  to  listen. 
The  landlady  marched  intrepidly  to  the  enemy's  citadel,  and  en 
tered  it  with  a  storm :  the  door  closed  after  her.  I  heard  her 
voice  in  high  windy  clamor  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then  it  grad 
ually  subsided,  like  a  gust  of  wind  in  a  garret ;  then  there  was  a 
laugh ;  then  I  heard  nothing  more. 

After  a  little  while  my  landlady  came  out  with  an  odd  smile 
on  her  face,  adjusting  her  cap,  which  was  a  little  on  one  side.  As 
she  went  down  stairs,  I  heard  the  landlord  ask  her  what  was  the 
matter ;  she  said,  "  Nothing  at  all,  only  the  girl's  a  fool." — I  was 
more  than  ever  perplexed  what  to  make  of  this  unaccountable 
personage,  who  could  put  a  good-natured  chambermaid  in  a  pas 
sion,  and  send  away  a  termagant  landlady  in  smiles.  He  could 
not  be  so  old,  nor  cross,  nor  ugly  either. 

I  had  to  go  to  work  at  his  picture  again,  and  to  paint  him 
entirely  different.  I  now  set  him  down  for  one  of  those  stout 
gentlemen  that  are  frequently  met  with  swaggering  about  the 


THE   STOUT   GENTLEMAN.  83 

doors  of  country  inns.  Moist,  merry  fellows,  in  Belcher  hand 
kerchiefs,  whose  bulk  is  a  little  assisted  by  malt-liquors.  Men 
who  have  seen  the  world,  and  been  sworn  at  Highgate ;  who  are 
used  to  tavern  life ;  up  to  all  the  tricks  of  tapsters,  and  knowing 
in  the  ways  of  sinful  publicans.  Free-livers  on  a  small  scale ; 
who  are  prodigal  within  the  compass  of  a  guinea ;  who  call  all 
the  waiters  by  name,  touzle  the  maids,  gossip  with  the  landady 
at  the  bar,  and  prose  over  a  pint  of  port,  or  a  glass  of  negus,  after 
dinner. 

The  morning  wore  away  in  forming  these  and  similar  sur 
mises.  As  fast  as  I  wove  one  system  of  belief,  some  movement 
of  the  unknown  would  completely  overturn  it,  and  throw  all  my 
thoughts  again  into  confusion.  Such  are  the  solitary  operations 
of  a  feverish  mind.  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  extremely  nervous ; 
and  the  continual  meditation  on  the  concerns  of  this  invisible 
personage  began  to  have  its  effect : — I  was  getting  a  fit  of  the 
fidgets. 

Dinner-time  came.  I  hoped  the  stout  gentleman  might  dine 
in  the  travellers'-room,  and  that  I  might  at  length  get  a  view  of 
his  person ;  but  no — he  had  dinner  served  in  his  own  room. 
What  could  be  the  meaning  of  this  solitude  and  mystery  1  He 
could  not  be  a  radical ;  there  was  something  too  aristocratical  in 
thus  keeping  himself  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  con 
demning  himself  to  his  own  dull  company  throughout  a  rainy 
day.  And  then,  too,  he  lived  too  well  for  a  discontented  politi 
cian.  He  seemed  to  expatiate  on  a  variety  of  dishes,  and  to  sit 
over  his  wine  like  a  jolly  friend  of  good  living.  Indeed,  my 
doubts  on  this  head  were  soon  at  an  end ;  for  he  could  not  have 
finished  his  first  bottle  before  I  could  faintly  hear  him  humming 
a  tune ;  and  on  listening,  I  found  it  to  be  "  God  save  the  King." 


84  BKACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

'Twas  plain,  then,  he  was  no  radical,  but  a  faithful  subject ;  one 
who  grew  loyal  over  his  bottle,  and  was  ready  to  stand  by  king 
and  constitution,  when  he  could  stand  by  nothing  else.  But  who 
could  he  be  ?  My  conjectures  began  to  run  wild.  Was  he  not 
some  personage  of  distinction  travelling  incog.  ?  "  God  knows !  " 
said  I,  at  my  wit's  end ;  "  it  may  be  one  of  the  royal  family  for 
aught  I  know,  for  they  are  all  stout  gentlemen ! " 

The  weather  continued  rainy.  The-  mysterious  unknown  kept 
his  room,  and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge,  his  chair,  for  I  did  not 
hear  him  move.  In  the  mean  time,  as  the  day  advanced,  the 
travellers' -room  began  to  be  frequented.  Some,  who  had  just 
arrived,  came  in  buttoned-up  in  box-coats ;  others  came  home  who 
had  been  dispersed  about  the  town ;  some  took  their  dinners,  and 
some  their  tea.  Had  I  been  in  a  different  mood,  I  should  have 
found  entertainment  in  studying  this  peculiar  class  of  men. 
There  were  two  especially,  who  were  regular  wags  of  the  road, 
and  up  to  all  the  standing  jokes  of  travellers.  They  had  a  thou 
sand  sly  things  to  say  to  the  waiting-maid,  whom  they  called 
Louisa,  and  Ethelinda,  and  a  dozen  other  fine  names,  changing 
the  name  every  time,  and  chuckling  amazingly  at  their  own  wag 
gery.  My  mind,  however,  had  been  completely  engrossed  by  the 
stout  gentleman.  He  had  kept  my  fancy  in  chase  during  a  long 
day,  and  it  was  not  now  to  be  diverted  from  the  scent. 

The  evening  gradually  wore  away.  The  travellers  read  the 
papers  two  or  three  tunes  over.  Some  drew  round  the  fire  and 
told  long  stories  about  their  horses,  about  their  adventures,  their 
overturns,  and  breakings  down.  They  discussed  the  credit  of 
different  merchants  and  different  inns ;  and  the  two  wags  told 
several  choice  anecdotes  of  pretty  chambermaids,  and  kind  land 
ladies.  All  this  passed  as  they  were  quietly  taking  what  they 


THE   STOUT   GENTLEMAN.  85 

called  their  night-caps,  that  is  to  say,  strong  glasses  of  brandy 
and  water  and  sugar,  or  some  other  mixture  of  the  kind ;  after 
which  they  one  after  another  rang  for  "  Boots "  and  the  cham 
bermaid,  and  walked  off  to  bed  in  old  shoes  cut  down  into  mar 
vellously  uncomfortable  slippers. 

There  was  now  only  one  man  left ;  a  short-legged,  long- 
bodied,  plethoric  fellow,  with  a  very  large,  sandy  head.  He  sat 
by  himself,  with  a  glass  of  port  wine  negus,  and  a  spoon ;  sip 
ping  and  stirring,  and  meditating  and  sipping,  until  nothing  was 
left  but  the  spoon.  He  gradually  fell  asleep  bolt  upright  in  his 
chair,  with  the  empty  glass  standing  before  him ;  and  the  candle 
seemed  to  fall  asleep  too,  for  the  wick  grew  long,  and  black,  and 
cabbaged  at  the  end,  and  dimmed  the  little  light  that  remained 
in  the  chamber.  The  gloom  that  now  prevailed  was  contagious. 
Around  hung  the  shapeless,  and  almost  spectral,  box-coats  of  de 
parted  travellers,  long  since  buried  in  deep  sleep.  I  only  heard 
the  ticking  of  the  clock,  with  the  deep-drawn  breathings  of  the 
sleeping  topers,  and  the  drippings  of  the  rain,  drop — drop — drop, 
from  the  eaves  of  the  house.  The  church  bells  chimed  midnight. 
All  at  once  the  stout  gentleman  began  to  walk  over  head,  pacing 
slowly  backwards  and  forwards.  There  was  something  extremely 
awful  in  all  this,  especially  to  one  in  my  state  of  nerves.  These 
ghastly  great-coats,  these  guttural  breathings,  and  the  creaking 
footsteps  of  this  mysterious  being.  His  steps  grew  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  at  length  died  away.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I 
was  wound  up  to  the  desperation  of  a  hero  of  romance.  "  Be  he 
who  or  what  he  may,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  I'll  have  a  sight  of 
him ! "  I  seized  a  chamber  candle,  and  hurried  up  to  No.  13. 
The  door  stood  ajar.  I  hesitated — I  entered :  the  room  was  de 
serted.  There  stood  a  large,  broad-bottomed  elbow-chair  at  a 


86  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

table,  on  which  was  an  empty  tumbler,  and  a  "  Times,"  newspa 
per,  and  the  room  smelt  powerfully  of  Stilton  cheese. 

The  mysterious  stranger  had  evidently  but  just  retired.  I 
turned  off,  sorely  disappointed,  to  my  room,  which  had  been 
changed  to  the  front  of  the  house.  As  I  went  along  the  corridor, 
I  saw  a  large  pair  of  boots,  with  dirty,  waxed  tops,  standing  at 
the  door  of  a  bedchamber.  They  doubtless  belonged  to  the  un 
known  ;  but  it  would  not  do  to  disturb  so  redoubtable  a  person 
age  in  his  den ;  he  might  discharge  a  pistol,  or  something  worse, 
at  my  head.  I  went  to  bed,  therefore,  and  lay  awake  half  the 
night  in  a  terribly  nervous  state ;  and  even  when  I  fell  asleep,  I 
was  still  haunted  in  my  dreams  by  the  idea  of  the  stout  gentle 
man  and  his  wax-topped  boots. 

I  slept  rather  late  the  next  morning,  and  was  awakened  by 
some  stir  and  bustle  in  the  house,  which  I  could  not  at  first  com 
prehend  ;  until  getting  more  awake,  I  found  there  was  a  mail 
coach  starting  from  the  door.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  from  be 
low,  "  The  gentleman  has  forgot  his  umbrella !  look  for  the  gen 
tleman's  umbrella  in  No.  13  !"  I  heard  an  immediate  scamper 
ing  of  a  chambermaid  along  the  passage,  and  a  shrill  reply  as  she 
ran,  "  Here  it  is !  here's  the  gentleman's  umbrella !  " 

The  mysterious  stranger  then  was  on  the  point  of  setting  off. 
This  was  the  only  chance  I  should  ever  have  of  knowing  him.  I 
sprang  out  of  bed,  scrambled  to  the  window,  snatched  aside  the 
curtains,  and  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  rear  of  a  person  get 
ting  in  at  the  coach-door.  The  skirts  of  a  brown  coat  parted 
behind,  and  gave  me  a  full  view  of  the  broad  disk  of  a  pair  of 
drab  breeches.  The  door  closed — "  all  right ! "  was  the  word — 
the  coach  whirled  off : — and  that  was  all  I  ever  saw  of  the  stout 
gentleman ! 


FOREST  TREES. 

"A  living  gallery  of  aged  trees." 

ONE  of  the  favorite  themes  of  boasting  with  the  Squire  is  the 
noble  trees  on  his  estate,  which,  in  truth,  has  some  of  the  finest  I 
have  seen  in  England.  There  is  something  august  and  solemn 
in  the  great  avenues  of  stately  oaks  that  gather  their  branches  to 
gether  high  in  air,  and  seem  to  reduce  the  pedestrians  beneath 
them  to  mere  pigmies.  "  An  avenue  of  oaks  or  elms,"  the  Squire 
observes,  "  is  the  true  colonnade  that  should  lead  to  a  gentleman's 
house.  As  to  stone  and  marble,  any  one  can  rear  them  at  once, 
they  are  the  work  of  the  day ;  but  commend  me  to  the  colonnades 
which  have  grown  old  and  great  with  the  family,  and  tell  by 
their  grandeur  how  long  the  family  has  endured." 

The  Squire  has  great  reverence  for  certain  venerable  trees, 
gray  with  moss,  which  he  considers  as  the  ancient  nobility  of  his 
domain.  There  is  the  ruin  of  an  enormous  oak,  which  has  been 
so  much  battered  by  time  and  tempest,  that  scarce  any  thing  is 
left ;  though  he  says  Christy  recollects  when,  in  his  boyhood,  it 
was  healthy  and  flourishing,  until  it  was  struck  by  lightning.  It 
is  now  a  mere  trunk,  with  one  twisted  bough  stretching  up  into 
the  air,  leaving  a  green  branch  at  the  end  of  it.  This  sturdy 
wreck  is  much  valued  by  the  Squire ;  he  calls  it  his  standard- 
bearer,  and  compares  it  to  a  veteran  warrior  beaten  down  in  bat- 


88  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

tie,  but  bearing  up  his  banner  to  the  last.  He  has  actually  had 
a  fence  built  round  it,  to  protect  it  as  much  as  possible  from  fur 
ther  injury. 

It  is  with  great  difficulty  he  can  ever  be  brought  to  have  any 
tree  cut  down  on  his  estate.  To  some  he  looks  with  reverence, 
as  having  been  planted  by  his  ancestors ;  to  others  with  a  kind 
of  paternal  affection,  as  having  been  planted  by  himself;  and  he 
feels  a  degree  of  awe  in  bringing  down,  with  a  few  strokes  of  the 
axe,  what  it  has  cost  centuries  to  build  up.  I  confess  I  cannot 
but  sympathize,  in  some  degree,  with  the  good  Squire  on  the  sub 
ject.  Though  brought  up  in  a  country  overrun  with  forests, 
where  trees  are  apt  to  be  considered  mere  incumbrances,  and  to 
be  laid  low  without  hesitation  or  remorse,  yet  I  could  never  see 
a  fine  tree  hewn  down  without  concern.  The  poets,  who  are 
naturally  lovers  of  trees,  as  they  are  of  every  thing  that  is  beau 
tiful,  have  artfully  awakened  great  interest  in  their  favor,  by 
representing  them  as  the  habitations  of  sylvan  deities ;  insomuch 
that  every  great  tree  had  its  tutelar  genius,  or  a  nymph,  whose 
existence  was  limited  to  its  duration.  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva, 
makes  several  pleasing  and  fanciful  allusions  to  this  superstition. 
"  As  the  fall,"  says  he,  "  of  a  very  aged  oak,  giving  a  crack  like 
thunder,  has  often  been  heard  at  many  miles'  distance ;  con 
strained  though  I  often  am  to  fell  them  with  reluctance,  I  do  not 
at  any  time  remember  to  have  heard  the  groans  of  those  nymphs 
(grieving  to  be  dispossessed  of  their  ancient  habitations)  without 
some  emotion  and  pity."  And  again,  in  alluding  to  a  violent 
.storm  that  had  devastated  the  woodlands,  he  says,  "Methinks  I 
still  hear,  sure  I  am  that  I  still  feel,  the  dismal  groans  of  our 
forests ;  the  late  dreadful  hurricane  having  subverted  so  many 
thousands  of  goodly  oaks,  prostrating  the  trees,  laying  them  in 


FOREST  TREES.  89 

ghastly  postures,  like  whole  regiments  fallen  in  battle  by  the 
sword  of  the  conqueror,  and  crushing  all  that  grew  beneath  them. 
The  public  accounts,"  he  adds,  "  reckon  no  less  than  three  thou 
sand  brave  oaks  in  one  part  only  of  the  forest  of  Dean  blown  down." 

I  have  paused  more  than  once  in  the  wilderness  of  America, 
to  contemplate  the  traces  of  some  blast  of  wind,  which  seemed  to 
have  rushed  down  from  the  clouds,  and  ripped  its  way  through 
the  bosom  of  the  woodlands ;  rooting  up,  shivering,  and  splinter 
ing  the  stoutest  trees,  and  leaving  a  long  track  of  desolation. 
There  was  something  awful  in  the  vast  havoc  made  among  these 
gigantic  plants ;  and  in  considering  their  magnificent  remains,  so 
rudely  torn  and  mangled,  and  hurled  down  to  perish  prematurely 
on  their  native  soil,  I  was  conscious  of  a  strong  movement  of  the 
sympathy  so  feelingly  expressed  by  Evelyn.  I  recollect,  also, 
hearing  a  traveller  of  poetical  temperament  expressing  the  kind 
of  horror  which  he  felt  on  beholding,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mis 
souri,  an  oak  of  prodigious  size,  which  had  been,  in  a  manner, 
overpowered  by  an  enormous  wild  grape-vine.  The  vine  had 
clasped  its  huge  folds  round  the  trunk,  and  thence  had  wound 
about  every  branch  and  twig,  until  the  mighty  tree  had  withered 
in  its  embrace.  It  seemed  like  Laocoon  struggling  ineffectually 
in  the  hideous  coils  of  the  monster  Python.  It  was  the  lion  of 
trees  perishing  in  the  embraces  of  a  vegetable  boa. 

I  am  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of  English  gentle 
men  on  rural  concerns,  and  of  noticing  with  what  taste  and  dis 
crimination,  and  what  strong,  unaffected  interest  they  will  discuss 
topics,  which,  in  other  countries,  are  abandoned  to  mere  wood 
men,  or  rustic  cultivators.  I  have  heard  a  noble  earl  descant  on 
park  and  forest  scenery  with  the  science  and  feeling  of  a  painter. 
He  dwelt  on  the  shape  and  beauty  of  particular  trees  on  his  es- 


90  BBACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

tate,  with  as  much  pride  and  technical  precision  as  though  he  had 
been  discussing  the  merits  of  statues  in  his  collection.  I  found 
that  he  had  even  gone  considerable  distances  to  examine  trees, 
•which  were  celebrated  among  rural  amateurs ;  for  it  seems  that 
trees,  like  horses,  have  their  established  points  of  excellence; 
and  that  there  are  some  in  England  which  enjoy  very  extensive 
celebrity  among  tree-fanciers  from  being  perfect  in  their  kind. 

There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  such  a  taste :  it 
argues,  I  think,  a  sweet  and  generous  nature,  to  have  this  strong 
relish  for  the  beauties  of  vegetation,  and  this  friendship  for  the 
hardy  and  glorious  sons  of  the  forest.  There  is  a  grandeur  of 
thought  connected  with  this  part  of  rural  economy.  It  is,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  figure,  the  heroic  line  of  husbandry.  It  is 
worthy  of  liberal,  and  freeborn,  and  aspiring  men.  He  who 
plants  an  oak,  looks  forward  to  future  ages,  and  plants  for  pos 
terity.  Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this.  He  cannot  expect 
to  sit  in  its  shade,  nor  enjoy  its  shelter ;  but  he  exults  in  the  idea, 
that  the  acorn  which  he  has  buried  in  the  earth  will  grow  up  into 
a  lofty  pile,  and  keep  on  flourishing,  and  increasing,  and  benefit 
ing  mankind,  long  after  he  shall  have  ceased  to  tread  his  pater 
nal  fields.  Indeed,  it  is  the  nature  of  such  occupations  to  lift  the 
thoughts  above  mere  worldliness.  As  the  leaves  of  trees  are  said 
to  absorb  all  noxious  qualities  of  the  air,  and  to  breathe  forth  a 
purer  atmosphere,  so  it  seems  to  me  as  if  they  drew  from  us  all 
sordid  and  angry  passions,  and  breathed  forth  peace  and  philan 
thropy.  There  is  a  serene  and  settled  majesty  in  woodland  sce 
nery  that  enters  into  the  soul,  and  dilates  and  elevates  it,  and 
fills  it  with  noble  inclinations.  The  ancient  and  hereditary 
groves,  too,  which  embower  this  island,  are  most  of  them  full  of 
story.  They  are  haunted  by  the  recollections  of  great  spirits  of 


FOREST   TKEES.  91 

past  ages,  who  have  sought  for  relaxation  among  them  from  the 
tumult  of  arms,  or  the  toils  of  state,  or  have  wooed  the  muse  be 
neath  their  shade.  Who  can  walk,  with  soul  unmoved,  among 
the  stately  groves  of  Penshurst,  where  the  gallant,  the  amiable, 
the  elegant  Sir  Philip  Sidney  passed  his  boyhood ;  or  can  look 
without  fondness  upon  the  tree  that  is  said  to  have  been  planted 
on  his  birthday ;  or  can  ramble  among  the  classic  bowers  of  Hag- 
ley  ;  or  can  pause  among  the  solitudes  of  Windsor  Forest,  and 
look  at  the  oaks  around,  huge,  gray,  and  time-worn,  like  the  old 
castle  towers,  and  not  feel  as  if  he  were  surrounded  by  so  many 
monuments  of  long-enduring  glory  1  It  is,  when  viewed  in  this 
light,  that  planted  groves,  and  stately  avenues,  and  cultivated 
parks,  have  an  advantage  over  the  more  luxuriant  beauties  of  un 
assisted  nature.  It  is  then  they  teem  with  moral  associations, 
and  keep  up  the  ever-interesting  story  of  human  existence. 

It  is  incumbent,  then,  on  the  high  and  generous  spirits  of  an 
ancient  nation,  to  cherish  these  sacred  groves  which  surround 
their  ancestral  mansions,  and  to  perpetuate  them  to  their  de 
scendants.  Republican  as  I  am  by  birth,  and  brought  up  as  I 
have  been  in  republican  principles  and  habits,  I  can  feel  nothing 
of  the  servile  reverence  for  titled  rank,  merely  because  it  is 
titled ;  but  I  trust  that  I  am  neither  churl  nor  bigot  in  my  creed. 
I  can  both  see  and  feel  how  hereditary  distinction,  when  it  falls 
to  the  lot  of  a  generous  mind,  may  elevate  that  mind  into  true 
nobility.  It  is  one  of  the  effects  of  hereditary  rank,  when  it  falls 
thus  happily,  that  it  multiplies  the  duties,  and,  as  it  were,  ex 
tends  the  existence  of  the  possessor.  He  does  not  feel  hirffeelf  a 
mere  individual  link  in  creation,  responsible  only  for  his  own 
brief  term  of  being.  He  carries  back  his  existence  in  proud 
recollection,  and  he  extends  it  forward  in  honorable  anticipation. 


92  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

He  lives  with  his  ancestry,  and  he  lives  with  his  posterity.  To 
both  does  he  consider  himself  involved  in  deep  responsibilities. 
As  he  has  received  much  from  those  who  have  gone  before,  so 
he  feels  bound  to  transmit  much  to  those  who  are  to  come  after 
him.  His  domestic  undertakings  seem  to  imply  a  longer  exist 
ence  than  those  of  ordinary  men ;  none  are  so  apt  to  build  and 
plant  for  future  centuries,  as  those  noble-spirited  men,  who  have 
received  their  heritages  from  foregone  ages. 

I  cannot  but  applaud,  therefore,  the  fondness  and  pride  with 
which  I  have  noticed  English  gentlemen,  of  generous  tempera 
ments,  and  high  aristocratic  feelings,  contemplating  those  mag 
nificent  trees,  rising  like  towers  and  pyramids,  from  the  midst  of 
their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  affinity  between  all  nature, 
animate  and  inanimate :  the  oak,  in  the  pride  and  lustihood  of  its 
growth,  seems  to  me  to  take  its  range  with  the  lion  and  the  eagle, 
and  to  assimilate,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  attributes,  to  heroic  and 
intellectual  man.  With  its  mighty  pillar  rising  straight  and  direct 
towards  heaven,  bearing  up  its  leafy  honors  from  the  impurities 
of  earth,  and  supporting  them  aloft  in  free  air  and  glorious  sun 
shine,  it  is  an  emblem  of  what  a  true  nobleman  should  be;  a 
refuge  for  the  weak,  a  shelter  for  the  oppressed,  a  defence  for  the 
defenceless ;  warding  off  from  them  the  peltings  of  the  storm,  or 
the  scorching  rays  of  arbitrary  power.  He  who  is  this,  is  an 
ornament  and  a  blessing  to  his  native  land.  He  who  is  otherwise, 
abuses  his  eminent  advantages ;  abuses  the  grandeur  and  pros 
perity  which  he  has  drawn  from  the  bosom  of  his  country. 
Should  tempests  arise,  and  he  be  laid  prostrate  by  the  storm, 
who  would  mourn  over  his  fall "?  Should  he  be  borne  down  by 
the  oppressive  hand  of  power,  who  would  murmur  at  his  fate  ? — 
"  Why  cumbereth  he  the  ground  1 " 


A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY. 

Printed  bookes  lie  contemnes,  as  a  novelty  of  this  latter  age ;  but  a  manuscript 
ha  pores  on  everlastingly ;  especially  if  the  cover  be  all  moth-eaten,  and  the  dust 
make  a  parenthesis  betweene  every  syllable. 

MlCO-COSMOGKAPHlE,  1628. 

THE  Squire  receives  great  sympathy  and  support,  in  his  anti 
quated  humors,  from  the  parson,  of  whom  I  made  some  mention 
on  my  former  visit  to  the  Hall,  and  who  acts  as  a  kind  of  family 
chaplain.  He  has  been  cherished  by  the  Squire  almost  constantly 
since  the  time  that  they  were  fellow-students  at  Oxford ;  for  it  is 
one  of  the  peculiar  advantages  of  these  great  universities,  that 
they  often  link  the  poor  scholar  to  the  rich  patron,  by  early  and 
heartfelt  ties,  which  last  through  life,  without  the  usual  humilia 
tions  of  dependence  and  patronage.  Under  the  fostering  protec 
tion  of  the  Squire,  therefore,  the  little  parson  has  pursued  his 
studies  in  peace.  Having  lived  almost  entirely  among  books,  and 
those,  too,  old  books,  he  is  quite  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  his 
mind  is  as  antiquated  as  the  garden  at  the  Hall,  where  the  flow 
ers  are  all  arranged  in  formal  beds,  and  the  yew-trees  clipped  into 
urns  and  peacocks. 

His  taste  for  literary  antiquities  was  first  imbibed  in  the -Bod 
leian  Library  at  Oxford ;  where,  when  a  student,  he  passed  many 
an  hour  foraging  among  the  old  manuscripts.  He  has  since,  at 
different  times,  visited  most  of  the  curious  libraries  in  England, 


04  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

and  has  ransacked  many  of  the  cathedrals.  With  all  his  quaint 
and  curious  learning,  he  has  nothing  of  arrogance  or  pedantry ; 
but  that  unaffected  earnestness  and  guileless  simplicity  which 
seem  to  belong  to  the  literary  antiquary. 

He  is  a  dark,  mouldy  little  man,  and  rather  dry  in  his  man 
ner  ;  yet,  on  his  favorite  theme,  he  kindles  up,  and  at  times  is 
even  eloquent.  No  fox-hunter,  recounting  his  last  day's  sport, 
could  be  more  animated  than  I  have  seen  the  worthy  parson, 
when  relating  his  search  after  a  curious  document,  which  he  had 
traced  from  library  to  library,  until  he  fairly  unearthed  it  in  the 
dusty  chapter-house  of  a  cathedral.  When,  too,  he  describes 
some  venerable  manuscript,  with  its  rich  illuminations,  its  thick 
creamy  vellum,  its  glossy  ink,  and  the  odor  of  the  cloisters  that 
seemed  to  exhale  from  it,  he  rivals  the  enthusiasm  of  a  Parisian 
epicure,  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a  Perigord  pie,  or  a  Pali  de 
Strasbourg. 

His  brain  seems  absolutely  haunted  with  love-sick  dreams 
about  gorgeous  old  works  in  "  silk  linings,  tripled  gold  bands, 
and  tinted  leather,  locked  up  in  wire  cases,  and  secured  from  the 
vulgar  hands  of  the  mere  reader ; "  and,  to  continue  the  happy 
expressions  of  an  ingenious  writer,  "  dazzling  one's  eyes  like  east 
ern  beauties,  peering  through  their  jealousies."  * 

He  has  a  great  desire,  however,  to  read  such  works  in  the  old 
libraries  and  chapter-houses  to  which  they  belong ;  for  he  thinks 
a  black-letter  volume  reads  best  in  one  of  those  venerable  cham 
bers  where  the  light  struggles  through  dusty  lancet  windows  and 
painted  glass ;  and  that  it  loses  half  its  zest  if  taken  away  from 
the  neighborhood  of  the  quaintly-carved  oaken  book-case  and 
Gothic  reading-desk.  At  his  suggestion  the  Squire  has  had  the 
*  D'Israeli.  Curiosities  of  Literature. 


A   LITERARY   ANTIQUARY.  95 

library  furnished  in  this  antique  taste,  and  several  of  the  win 
dows  glazed  with  painted  glass,  that  they  may  throw  a  properly 
tempered  light  upon  the  pages  of  their  favorite  old  authors. 

The  parson,  I  am  told,  has  been  for  some  time  meditating  a 
commentary  on  Strutt,  Brand,  and  Douce,  in  which  he  means  to 
detect  them  in  sundry  dangerous  errors  in  respect  to  popular 
games  and  superstitions ;  a  work  to  which  the  Squire  looks  for 
ward  with  great  interest.  He  is,  also,  a  casual  contributor  to  that 
long-established  repository  of  national  customs  and  antiquities,  the 
Gentleman's  Magazine,  and  is  one  of  those  who  every  now  and 
then  make  an  inquiry  concerning  some  obsolete  custom  or  rare 
legend ;  nay,  it  is  said  that  some  of  his  communications  have 
been  at  least  six  inches  in  length.  He  frequently  receives  parcels 
by  coach  from  different  parts  of  the  kingdom,  containing  mouldy 
volumes  and  almost  illegible  manuscripts ;  for  it  is  singular  what 
an  active  correspondence  is  kept  up  among  literary  antiquaries, 
and  how  soon  the  fame  of  any  rare  volume,  or  unique  copy,  just 
discovered  among  the  rubbish  of  a  library,  is  circulated  among 
them.  The  parson  is  more  busy  than  common  just  now,  being  a 
little  flurried  by  an  advertisement  of  a  work,  said  to  be  preparing 
for  the  press,  on  the  mythology  of  the  middle  ages.  The  little 
man  has  long  been  gathering  together  all  the  hobgoblin  tales  he 
could  collect,  illustrative  of  the  superstitions  of  former  times ; 
and  he  is  in  a  complete  fever,  lest  this  formidable  rival  should 
take  the  field  before  him. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  the  Hall,  I  called  at  the  parson 
age,  in  company  with  Mr.  Bracebridge  and  the  general.  The 
parson  had  not  been  seen  for  several  days,  which  was  a  matter  of 
some  surprise,  as  he  was  an  almost  daily  visiter  at  the  Hall.  We 
found  him  in  his  study ;  a  small  dusky  chamber,  lighted  by  a 


96  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

lattice-window  that  looked  into  the  church- yard,  and  was  over 
shadowed  by  a  yew-tree.  His  chair  was  surrounded  by  folios  and 
quartos,  piled  upon  the  floor,  and  his  table  was  covered  with  books 
and  manuscripts.  The  cause  of  his  seclusion  was  a  work  which 
he  had  recently  received,  and  with  which  he  had  retired  in  rap 
ture  from  the  world,  and  shut  himself  up  to  enjoy  a  literary 
honey-moon  undisturbed.  Never  did  boarding-school  girl  devour 
the  pages  of  a  sentimental  novel,  or  Don  Quixote  a  chivalrous  ro 
mance,  with  more  intense  delight  than  did  the  little  man  banquet 
on  the  pages  of  this  delicious  work.  It  was  Dibdin's  Biblio 
graphical  Tour;  a  work  calculated  to  have  as  intoxicating  an 
effect  on  the  imaginations  of  literary  antiquaries,  as  the  adven 
tures  of  the  heroes  of  the  round-table,  on  all  true  knights ;  or 
the  tales  of  the  early  American  voyagers  on  the  ardent  spirits  of 
the  age,  filling  them  with  dreams  of  Mexican  and  Peruvian  mines, 
and  of  the  golden  realm  of  El  Dorado. 

The  good  parson  had  looked  forward  to  this  bibliographical 
expedition  as  of  far  greater  importance  than  those  to  Africa,  or 
the  North  Pole.  With  what  eagerness  had  he  seized  upon  the 
history  of  the  enterprise !  with  what  interest  had  he  followed  the 
redoubtable  bibliographer  and  his  graphical  squire  in  their  ad 
venturous  roamings  among  Norman  castles,  and  cathedrals,  and 
French  libraries,  and  German  convents  and  universities ;  pene 
trating  into  the  prison-houses  of  vellum  manuscripts,  and  exquis 
itely  illuminated  missals,  and  revealing  their  beauties  to  the 
world ! 

When  the  parson  had  finished  a  rapturous  eulogy  on  this  most 
curious  and  entertaining  work,  he  drew  forth  from  a  little  drawer 
a  manuscript,  lately  received  from  a  correspondent,  which  had 
perplexed  him  sadly.  It  was  written  in  Norman  French,  in  very 


A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY.  97 

ancient  characters,  and  so  faded  and  mouldered  away  as  to  be 
almost  illegible.  It  was  apparently  an  old  Norman  drinking  song, 
which  might  have  been  brought  over  by  one  of  William  the  Con 
queror's  carousing  followers.  The  writing  was  just  legible  enough 
to  keep  a  keen  antiquity-hunter  on  a  doubtful  chase ;  here  and 
there  he  would  be  completely  thrown  out,  and  then  there  would 
be  a  few  words  so  plainly  written  as  to  put  him  on  the  scent 
again.  In  this  way  he  had  been  led  on  for  a  whole  day,  until  he 
had  found  himself  completely  at  fault. 

The  Squire  endeavored  to  assist  him,  but  was  equally  baffled. 
The  old  general  listened  for  some  time  to  the  discussion,  and  then 
asked  the  parson,  if  he  had  read  Captain  Morris's,  or  George 
Stevens's,  or  Anacreon  Moore's  bacchanalian  songs ;  on  the  other 
replying  in  the  negative,  "  Oh,  then,"  said  the  general,  with  a 
sagacious  nod,  "  if  you  want  a  drinking  song,  I  can  furnish  you 
with  the  latest  collection — I  did  not  know  you  had  a  turn  for 
those  kind  of  things ;  and  I  can  lend  you  the  Encyclopedia  of 
Wit  into  the  bargain.  I  never  travel  without  them ;  they're  ex 
cellent  reading  at  an  inn." 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  odd  look  of  surprise  and 
perplexity  of  the  parson,  at  this  proposal ;  or  the  difficulty  the 
Squire  had  in  making  the  general  comprehend,  that  though  a 
jovial  song  of  the  present  day  was  but  a  foolish  sound  in  the  ears 
of  wisdom,  and  beneath  the  notice  of  a  learned  man,  yet  a  trowl, 
written  by  a  tosspot  several  hundred  years  since,  was  a  matter 
worthy  of  the  gravest  research,  and  enough  to  set  whole  colleges 
by  the  ears. 

I  have  since  pondered  much  on  this  matter,  and  have  figured 
to  myself  what  may  be  the  fate  of  our  current  literature,  when 
retrieved,  piecemeal,  by  future  antiquaries,  from  among  the  rub- 
5 


98  BRACEBRIDGE  HALL. 

bish  of  ages.  What  a  Magnus  Apollo,  for  instance,  will  Moore 
become,  among  sober  divines  and  dusty  schoolmen !  Even  his 
festive  and  amatory  songs,  which  are  now  the  mere  quickeners  of 
our  social  moments,  or  the  delights  of  our  drawing-rooms,  will 
then  become  matters  of  laborious  research  and  painful  collation. 
How  many  a  grave  professor  will  then  waste  his  midnight  oil,  or 
worry  his  brain  through  a  long  morning,  endeavoring  to  restore 
the  pure  text,  or  illustrate  the  biographical  hints  of  "  Come,  tell 
me,  says  Rosa,  as  kissing  and  kissed ; "  and  how  many  an  arid 
old  bookworm,  like  the  worthy  little  parson,  will  give  up  in  de 
spair,  after  vainly  striving  to  fill  up  some  fatal  hiatus  in  "  Fanny 
of  Timmol ! " 

Nor  is  it  merely  such  exquisite  authors  as  Moore  that  are 
doomed  to  consume  the  oil  of  future  antiquaries.  Many  a  poor 
scribbler,  who  is  now,  apparently,  sent  to  oblivion  by  pastry-cooks 
and  cheesemongers,  will  then  rise  again  in  fragments,  and  flourish 
in  learned  immortality. 

After  all,  thought  I,  time  is  not  such  an  invariable  destroyer 
as  he  is  represented.  If  he  pulls  down,  he  likewise  builds  up ;  if 
he  impoverishes  one,  he  enriches  another ;  his  very  dilapidation 
furnishes  matter  for  new  works  of  controversy,  and  his  rust  is 
more  precious  than  the  most  costly  gilding.  Under  his  plastic 
hand  trifles  rise  into  importance ;  the  nonsense  of  one  age  be 
comes  the  wisdom  of  another ;  the  levity  of  the  wit  gravitates 
into  the  learning  of  the  pedant,  and  an  ancient  farthing  mould 
ers  into  infinitely  more  value  than  a  modern  guinea. 


y  Cifaiwv  tfu 


,  P  PUTNAM. 


THE  FARM-HOUSE. 


•  Love  and  hay 


Are  thick  sown,  but  come  up  full  of  thistles. 

BEAUMONT  AED  FLETCHER. 


I  WAS  so  much  pleased  with  the  anecdotes  which  were  told  me  of 
Keady-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  that  I  got  Master  Simon,  a  day  or 
two  since,  to  take  me  to  his  house.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  farm 
house,  built  of  brick,  with  curiously  twisted  chimneys.  It  stood 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  road,  with  a  southern  exposure,  look 
ing  upon  a  soft,  green  slope  of  meadow.  There  was  a  small  gar 
den  in  front,  with  a  row  of  beehives  humming  among  beds  of 
sweet  herbs  and  flowers.  "Well-scoured  milking-tubs,  with  bright 
copper  hoops,  hung  on  the  garden  paling.  Fruit  trees  were 
trained  up  against  the  cottage,  and  pots  of  flowers  stood  in  the 
windows.  A  fat,  superannuated  mastiff  lay  in  the  sunshine  at 
the  door  ;  with  a  sleek  cat  sleeping  peacefully  across  him. 

Mr.  Tibbets  was  from  home  at  the  time  of  our  calling,  but 
we  were  received  with  hearty  and  homely  welcome  by  his  wife ;  a 
notable,  motherly  woman,  and  a  complete  pattern  for  wives ; 
since,  according  to  Master  Simon's  account,  she  never  contradicts 
honest  Jack,  and  yet  manages  to  have  her  own  way,  and  to  con 
trol  him  in  every  thing. 


100  BBACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

She  received  us  in  the  main  room  of  the  house,  a  kind  of  par 
lor  and  hall,  with  great  brown  beams  of  timber  across  it,  which 
Mr.  Tibbets  is  apt  to  point  out  with  some  exultation,  observing, 
that  they  don't  put  such  timber  in  houses  nowadays.  The  fur 
niture  was  old-fashioned,  strong,  and  highly  polished ;  the  walls 
were  hung  with  colored  prints  of  the  story  of  the  Prodigal  Son, 
who  was  represented  in  a  red  coat  and  leather  breeches.  Over 
the  fireplace  was  a  blunderbuss,  and  a  hard-favored  likeness  of 
Ready-Money  Jack,  taken,  when  he  was  a  young  man,  by  the 
same  artist  that  painted  the  tavern  sign  ;  his  mother  having  taken 
a  notion  that  the  Tibbets  had  as  much  right  to  have  a  gallery  of 
family  portraits  as  the  folks  at  the  Hall. 

The  good  dame  pressed  us  very  much  to  take  some  refresh 
ment,  and  tempted  us  with  a  variety  of  household  dainties,  so 
that  we  wyere  glad  to  compound  by  tasting  some  of  her  home 
made  wines.  While  we  were  there,  the  son  and  heir-apparent 
came  home ;  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  something  of  a 
rustic  beau.  He  took  us  over  the  premises,  and  showed  us  the 
whole  establishment.  An  air  of  homely  but  substantial  plenty 
prevailed  throughout ;  every  thing  was  of  the  best  materials,  and 
in  the  best  condition.  Nothing  was  out  of  place,  or  ill  made ; 
and  you  saw  every  where  the  signs  of  a  man  who  took  care  to 
have  the  worth  of  his  money,  and  paid  as  he  went. 

The  farm-yard  was  well  stocked ;  under  a  shed  was  a  taxed 
cart,  in  trim  order,  in  which  Ready-Money  Jack  took  his  wife 
about  the  country.  His  well-fed  horse  neighed  from  the  stable, 
and  when  led  out  into  the  yard,  to  use  the  words  of  young  Jack, 
"  he  shone  like  a  bottle ; "  for  he  said  the  old  man  made  it  a  rule 
that  every  thing  about  him  should  fare  as  well  as  he  did  himself. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  pride  which  the  young  fellow  seemed 


THE   FABM-HOUSE.  101 

to  have  of  his  father.  He  gave  us  several  particulars  concerning 
his  habits,  which  were  pretty  much  to  the  effect  of  those  I  have 
already  mentioned.  He  had  never  suffered  an  account  to  stand  in 
his  life,  always  providing  the  money  before  he  purchased  any  thing  ; 
and,  if  possible,  paying  in  gold  and  silver.  He  had  a  great  dis 
like  to  paper  money,  and  seldom  went  without  a  considerable  sum 
in  gold  about  him.  On  my  observing  that  it  was  a  wonder  he 
had  never  been  waylaid  and  robbed,  the  young  fellow  smiled  at 
the  idea  of  any  one  venturing  upon  such  an  exploit,  for  I  believe 
he  thinks  the  old  man  would  be  a  match  for  Eobin  Hood  and  all 
his  gang. 

I  have  noticed  that  Master  Simon  seldom  goes  into  any  house 
without  having  a  world  of  private  talk  with  some  one  or  other  of 
the  family,  being  a  kind  of  universal  counsellor  and  confidant. 
We  had  not  been  long  at  the  farm,  before  the  old  dame  got  him 
into  a  corner  of  her  parlor,  where  they  had  a  long  whispering 
conference  together ;  in  which  I  saw  by  his  shrugs  that  there 
were  some  dubious  matters  discussed,  and  by  his  nods  that  he 
agreed  with  every  thing  she  said. 

After  we  had  come  out,  the  young  man  accompanied  us  a  lit 
tle  distance,  and  then,  drawing  Master  Simon  aside  into  a  green 
lane,  they  walked  and  talked  together  for  nearly  half  an  hour. 
Master  Simon,  who  has  the  usual  propensity  of  confidants  to  blab 
every  thing  to  the  next  friend  they  meet  with,  let  me  know  that 
there  was  a  love  affair  in  the  question ;  the  young  fellow  having 
been  smitten  with  the  charms  of  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  pretty  niece 
of  the  housekeeper  at  the  Hall.  Like  most  other  love  concerns, 
it  had  brought  its  troubles  and  perplexities.  Dame  Tibbets  had 
long  been  on  intimate,  gossiping  terms  with  the  housekeeper,  who 
often  visited  the  farm-house ;  but  when  the  neighbors  spoke  to 


102  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

her  of  the  likelihood  of  a  match  between  her  son  and  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  "  Marry  come  up ! "  she  scouted  the  very  idea.  The 
girl  had  acted  as  Lady's  maid,  and  it  was  beneath  the  blood  of 
the  Tibbets,  who  had  lived  on  their  own  lands  time  out  of  mind, 
and  owed  reverence  and  thanks  to  nobody,  to  have  the  heir- 
apparent  marry  a  servant ! 

These  vaporings  had  faithfully  been  carried  to  the  housekeep 
er's  ears,  by  one  of  their  mutual,  go-between  friends.  The  old 
housekeeper's  blood,  if  not  as  ancient,  was  as  quick  as  that  of 
Dame  Tibbets.  She  had  been  accustomed  to  carry  a  high  head 
at  the  Hall,  and  among  the  villagers ;  and  her  faded  brocade 
rustled  with  indignation  at  the  slight  cast  upon  her  alliance  by 
the  wife  of  a  petty  farmer.  She  maintained  that  her  niece  had 
been  a  companion  rather  than  a  waiting-maid  to  the  young  ladies. 
"  Thank  heavens,  she  was  not  obliged  to  work  for  her  living,  and 
was  as  idle  as  any  young  lady  in  the  land  ;  and  when  somebody 
died,  would  receive  something  that  would  be  worth  the  notice  of 
some  folks,  with  all  their  ready  money." 

A  bitter  feud  had  thus  taken  place  between  the  two  worthy 
dames,  and  the  young  people  were  forbidden  to  think  of  one  ano 
ther.  As  to  young  Jack,  he  was  too  much  in  love  to  reason  upon 
the  matter ;  and  being  a  little  heady,  and  not  standing  in  much 
awe  of  his  mother,  was  ready  to  sacrifice  the  whole  dignity  of  the 
Tibbets  to  his  passion.  He  had  lately,  however,  had  a  violent 
quarrel  with  his  mistress,  in  consequence  of  some  coquetry  on  her 
part,  and  at  present  stood  aloof.  The  politic  mother  was  exert 
ing  all  her  ingenuity  to  widen  this  accidental  breach ;  but,  as  is 
most  commonly  the  case,  the  more  she  meddled  with  this  perverse 
inclination  of  her  son,  the  stronger  it  grew.  In  the  mean  time 
Old  Ready-Money  was  kept  completely  in  the  dark ;  both  parties 


THE  FARM-HOUSE.  103 

were  in  awe  and  uncertainty  as  to  what  might  be  his  way  of  tak 
ing  the  matter,  and  dreaded  to  awaken  the  sleeping  lion.  Be 
tween  father  and  son,  therefore,  the  worthy  Mrs.  Tibbets  was  full 
of  business,  and  at  her  wit's  end.  It  is  true  there  was  no  great 
danger  of  honest  Eeady-Money's  finding  the  thing  out,  if  left  to 
himself,  for  he  was  of  a  most  unsuspicious  temper,  and  by  no 
means  quick  of  apprehension ;  but  there  was  daily  risk  of  his 
attention  being  aroused  by  those  cobwebs  which  his  indefatigable 
wife  was  continually  spinning  about  his  nose. 

Such  is  the  distracted  state  of  politics  in  the  domestic  empire 
of  Ready-Money  Jack ;  which  only  shows  the  intrigues  and  inter 
nal  dangers  to  which  the  best  regulated  governments  are  liable. 
In  this  perplexed  situation  of  their  affairs,  both  mother  and  son 
have  applied  to  Master  Simon  for  counsel ;  and,  with  all  his  ex 
perience  in  meddling  with  other  people's  concerns,  he  finds  it  an 
exceedingly  difficult  part  to  play,  to  agree  with  both  parties,  see 
ing  that  their  opinions  and  wishes  are  so  diametrically  opposite. 


HORSEMANSHIP. 

A  coach  was  a  strange  monster  in  those  days,  and  the  sight  of  one  put  both  horse 
and  man  into  amazement.  Some  said  it  was  a  great  crabshell  brought  out  of  China, 
and  some  imagined  it  to  be  one  of  the  pagan  temples,  in  which  the  canibals  adored 
the  divell.  TAYLOR,  THE  WATER  POET. 

I  HAVE  made  casual  mention,  more  than  once,  of  one  of  the 
Squire's  antiquated  retainers,  old  Christy  the  huntsman.  I  find 
that  his  crabbed  humor  is  a  source  of  much  entertainment  among 
the  young  men  of  the  family ;  the  Oxonian,  particularly,  takes  a 
mischievous  pleasure  now  and  then  in  slyly  rubbing  the  old  man 
against  the  grain,  and  then  smoothing  him  down  again ;  for  the 
old  fellow  is  as  ready  to  bristle  up  his  back  as  a  porcupine.  He 
rides  a  venerable  hunter  called  Pepper,  which  is  a  counterpart  of 
himself,  a  heady,  cross-grained  animal,  that  frets  the  flesh  off  its 
bones ;  bites,  kicks,  and  plays  all  manner  of  villanous  tricks.  He 
is  as  tough,  and  nearly  as  old  as  his  rider,  who  has  ridden  him 
time  out  of  mind,  and  is,  indeed,  the  only  one  that  can  do  any 
thing  with  him.  Sometimes,  however,  they  have  a  complete  quar- 
jel,  and  a  dispute  for  mastery,  and  then,  I  am  told,  it  is  as  good  as 
.a  farce  to  see  the  heat  they  both  get  into,  and  the  wrongheaded 
contest  that  ensues ;  for  they  are  quite  knowing  in  each  other's 
ways,  and  in  the  art  of  teasing  and  fretting  each  other.  Not 
withstanding  these  doughty  brawls,  however,  there  is  nothing  that 


HORSEMANSHIP.  105 

nettles  old  Christy  sooner  than  to  question  the  merits  of  his  horse ; 
which  he  upholds  as  tenaciously  as  a  faithful  husband  will  vindi 
cate  the  virtues  of  the  termagant  spouse,  that  gives  him  a  curtain 
lecture  every  night  of  his  life. 

The  young  men  call  old  Christy  their  "  professor  of  equita 
tion,"  and  in  accounting  for  the  appellation,  they  let  me  into  some 
particulars  of  the  Squire's  mode  of  bringing  up  his  children. 
There  is  an  odd  mixture  of  eccentricity  and  good  sense  in  all  the 
opinions  of  my  worthy  host.  His  mind  is  like  modern  Gothic, 
Avhere  plain  brick-work  is  set  off  with  pointed  arches  and  quaint 
tracery.  Though  the  main  groundwork  of  his  opinions  is  cor 
rect,  yet  he  has  a  thousand  little  notions,  picked  up  from  old 
books,  which  stand  out  whimsically  on  the  surface  of  his  mind. 

Thus,  in  educating  his  boys,  he  chose  Peachem,  Markam,  and 
such  like  old  English  writers,  for  his  manuals.  At  an  early  age 
he  took  the  lads  out  of  their  mother's  hands,  who  was  disposed, 
as  mothers  are  apt  to  be,  to  make  fine,  orderly  children  of  them, 
that  should  keep  out  of  sun  and  rain,  and  never  soil  their  hands, 
nor  tear  their  clothes. 

In  place  of  this,  the  Squire  turned  them  loose  to  run  free  and 
wild  about  the  park,  without  heeding  wind  or  weather.  He  was, 
also,  particularly  attentive  in  making  them  bold  and  expert  horse 
men ;  and  these  were  the  days  Avhen  old  Christy,  the  huntsman, 
enjoyed  great  importance,  as  the  lads  were  put  under  his  care  to 
practise  them  at  the  leaping-bars,  and  to  keep  an  eye  upon  them 
in  the  chase. 

The  Squire  always  objected  to  their  riding  in  carriages  of  any 

kind,  and  is  still  a  little  tenacious  on  this  point.     He  often  rails 

against  the  universal  use  of  carriages,  and  quotes  the  words  of 

honest  Nashe  to  that  effect.    "  It  was  thought,"  says  Nashe,  in  his 

5* 


106  BEACEERIDGE   HALL. 

Quaternio,  "  a  kind  of  solecism,  and  to  savor  of  effeminacy,  for  a 
young  gentleman  in  the  flourishing  time  of  his  age  to  creep  into  a 
coach,  and  to  shroud  himself  from  wind  and  weather :  our  great 
delight  was  to  outbrave  the  blustering  Boreas  upon  a  great  horse  ; 
to  arm  and  prepare  ourselves  to  go  with  Mars  and  Bellona  into 
the  field  was  our  sport  and  pastime  ;  coaches  and  caroches  we  left 
unto  them  for  whom  they  were  first  invented,  for  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  and  decrepit  age  and  impotent  people." 

The  Squire  insists  that  the  English  gentlemen  have  lost  much 
of  their  hardiness  and  manhood  since  the  introduction  of  car 
riages.  "  Compare,"  he  will  say,  "  the  fine  gentleman  of  former 
times,  ever  on  horseback,  booted  and  spurred,  and  travel-stained, 
but  open,  frank,  manly,  and  chivalrous,  with  the  fine  gentleman 
of  the  present  day,  full  of  affectation  and  effeminacy,  rolling  along 
a  turnpike  in  his  voluptuous  vehicle.  The  young  men  of  those 
days  were  rendered  brave,  and  lofty,  and  generous  in  their  no 
tions,  by  almost  living  in  their  saddles,  and  having  their  foaming 
steeds  '  like  proud  seas  under  them.'  There  is  something,"  he 
adds,  "  in  bestriding  a  fine  horse,  that  makes  a  man  feel  more 
than  mortal.  He  seems  to  have  doubled  his  nature,  and  to  have 
added  to  his  own  courage  and  sagacity  the  power,  the  speed,  and 
stateliness  of  the  superb  animal  on  which  he  is  mounted." 

"  It  is  a  great  delight,"  says  old  Nashe,  "  to  see  a  young  gen 
tleman  with  his  skill  and  cunning,  by  his  voice,  rod,  and  spur, 
better  to  manage  and  to  command  the  great  Bucephalus,  than 
the  strongest  Milo,  with  all  his  strength ;  one  while  to  see  him 
make  him  tread,  trot  and  gallop  the  ring ;  and  one  after  to  see 
him  make  him  gather  up  roundly ;  to  bear  his  head  steadily ;  to 
run  a  full  career  swiftly ;  to  stop  a  sudden  lightly :  anon  after  to 
see  him  make  him  advance,  to  yorke,  to  go  back,  and  side  long, 


HORSEMANSHIP.  107 

to  turn  on  either  hand ;  to  gallop  the  gallop  galliard ;  to  do  the 
capriole,  the  chambetta,  and  dance  the  curvetty." 

In  conformity  to  these  ideas,  the  Squire  had  them  all  on 
horseback  at  an  early  age,  and  made  them  ride,  slap  dash,  about 
the  country,  without  flinching  at  hedge,  or  ditch,  or  stone-wall, 
to  the  imminent  danger  of  their  necks. 

Even  the  fair  Julia  was  partially  included  in  this  system ; 
and,  under  the  instructions  of  old  Christy,  las  become  one  of  the 
best  horsewomen  in  the  country.  The  Squire  says  it  is  better 
than  all  the  cosmetics  and  sweeteners  of  the  breath  that  ever 
were  invented.  He  extols  the  horsemanship  of  the  ladies  in  for 
mer  times,  when  Queen  Elizabeth  would  scarcely  suffer  the  rain 
to  stop  her  accustomed  ride.  "  And  then  think,"  he  will  say, 
"  what  nobler  and  sweeter  beings  it  made  them.  What  a  differ 
ence  must  there  be,  both  in  mind  and  body,  between  a  joyous 
high-spirited  dame  of  those  days,  glowing  with  health  and  exer 
cise,  freshened  by  every  breeze,  seated  loftily  and  gracefully  on 
her  saddle,  with  plume  on  head,  and  hawk  on  hand,  and  her  de 
scendant  of  the  present  day,  the  pale  victim  of  routs  and  ball 
rooms,  sunk  languidly  in  one  corner  of  an  enervating  carriage." 

The  Squire's  equestrian  system  has  been  attended  with  great 
success,  for  his  sons,  having  passed  through  the  whole  course  of 
instruction  without  breaking  neck  or  limb,  are  now  healthful, 
spirited,  and  active,  and  have  the  true  Englishman's  love  for  a 
horse.  If  their  manliness  and  frankness  are  praised  in  their 
father's  hearing,  he  quotes  the  old  Persian  maxim,  and  says,  they 
have  been  taught  "  to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  to  speak  the  truth." 

It  is  true  the  Oxonian  has  now  and  then  practised  the  old 
gentleman's  doctrines  a  little  in  the  extreme.  He  is  a  gay  young 
ster,  rather  fonder  of  his  horse  than  his  book,  with  a  little  dash 


108  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

of  the  dandy ;  though  the  ladies  all  declare  that  he  is  "  the  flower 
of  the  flock."  The  first  year  that  he  was  sent  to  Oxford,  he  had 
a  tutor  appointed  to  overlook  him,  a  dry  chip  of  the  university. 
When  he  returned  home  in  the  vacation,  the  Squire  made  many 
inquiries  about  how  he  liked  his  college,  his  studies,  and  his 
tutor. 

"  Oh,  as  to  my  tutor,  sir,  I've  parted  with  him  some  time 
since."  j 

"  You  have ;  ana  pray,  why  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  hunting  was  all  the  go  at  our  college,  and  I  was  a 
little  short  of  funds ;  so  I  discharged  my  tutor,  and  took  a  horse, 
you  know." 

"  Ah,  I  was  not  aware  of  that,  Tom,"  said  the  Squire,  mildly. 

When  Tom  returned  to  college,  his  allowance  was  doubled, 
that  he  might  be  enabled  to  keep  both  horse  and  tutor. 


«          LOVE  SYMPTOMS. 

I  will  now  begin  to  sigh,  read  poets,  look  pale,  go  neatly,  and  be  most  apparently 
In  love.  MABSTON. 

I  SHOULD  not  be  surprised  if  we  should  have  another  pair  of  tur 
tles  at  the  Hall ;  for  Master  Simon  has  informed  me,  in  great 
confidence,  that  he  suspects  the  general  of  some  design  upon  the 
susceptible  heart  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  I  have,  indeed,  noticed  a 
growing  attention  and  courtesy  in  the  veteran  towards  her  lady 
ship  ;  he  softens  very  much  in  her  company,  sits  by  her  at  table, 
and  entertains  her  with  long  stories  about  Seringapatam,  and 
pleasant  anecdotes  of  the  Mulligatawney  club.  I  have  even  seen 
him  present  her  with  a  full-blown  rose  from  the  hot-house,  in  a 
style  of  the  most  captivating  gallantry,  and  it  was  accepted  with 
great  suavity  and  graciousness ;  for  her  ladyship  delights  in  re 
ceiving  the  homage  and  attention  of  the  sex. 

Indeed,  the  general  was  one  of  the  earliest  admirers  that  dan 
gled  in  her  train  during  her  short  reign  of  beauty ;  and  they 
flirted  together  for  half  a  season  in  London,  some  thirty  or  forty 
years  since.  She  reminded  him  lately,  in  the  course  of  a  con 
versation  about  former  days,  of  the  time  when  he  used  to  ride  a 
white  horse,  and  to  canter  so  gallantly  by  the  side  of  her  carriage 
in  Hyde  Park ;  whereupon  I  have  remarked  that  the  veteran  has 
regularly  escorted  her  since,  when  she  rides  out  on  horseback ; 
and,  I  suspect,  he  almost  persuades  himself  that  he  makes  as  cap 
tivating  an  appearance  as  in  his  youthful  days. 


110  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

It  would  be  an  interesting  and  memorable  circumstance  in 
the  chronicles  of  Cupid,  if  this  spark  of  the  tender  passion,  after 
lying  dormant  for  such  a  length  of  time,  should  again  be  fanned 
into  a  flame,  from  amidst  the  ashes  of  two  burnt-out  hearts.  It 
would  be  an  instance  of  perdurable  fidelity,  wort^r  of  being 
placed  beside  those  recorded  in  one  of  the  Squire's  favorite  tomes, 
commemorating  the  constancy  of  the  olden  times ;  in  which  times, 
we  are  told,  "Men  and  wymmen  coulde  love  togyders  seven 
yeres,  and  no  licours  lustes  were  betwene  them,  and  thenne  was 
love,  trouthe,  and  feythfulnes ;  and  lo  in  lyke  wyse  was  used  loVe 
in  Kyng  Arthurs  dayes."  * 

Still,  however,  this  may  be  nothing  but  a  little  venerable  flir 
tation,  the  general  being  a  veteran  dangler,  and  the  good  lady 
habituated  to  these  kind  of  attentions.  Master  Simon,  on  the 
other  hand,  thinks  the  general  is  looking  about  him  with  the 
wary  eye  of  an  old  campaigner ;  and  now  that  he  is  on  the  wane, 
is  desirous  of  getting  into  warm  winter-quarters.  Much  allow 
ance,  however,  must  be  made  for  Master  Simon's  uneasiness  on 
the  subject,  for  he  looks  on  Lady  Lillycraft's  house  as  one  of  his 
strongholds,  where  he  is  lord  of  the  ascendant ;  and,  with  all  his 
admiration  of  the  general,  I  much  doubt  whether  he  would  like 
to  see  him  lord  of  the  lady  and  the  establishment. 

There  are  certain  other  symptoms,  notwithstanding,  that  give 
an  air  of  probability  to  Master  Simon's  intimations.  Thus,  for 
instance,  I  have  observed  that  the  general  has  been  very  assidu 
ous  in  his  attentions  to  her  ladyship's  dogs,  and  has  several  times 
exposed  his  fingers  to  imminent  jeopardy,  in  attempting  to  pat 
Beauty  on  the  head.  It  is  to  be  hoped  his  advances  to  the  mis 
tress  will  be  more  favorably  received,  as  all  his  overtures  towards 
*  Morte  d' Arthur. 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS.  Ill 

a  caress  are  greeted  by  the  pestilent  little  cur  with  a  wary  kind 
ling  of  the  eye,  and  a  most  venomous  growl. 

He  has,  moreover,  been  very  complaisant  towards  my  lady's 
gentlewoman,  the  immaculate  Mrs.  Hannah,  whom  he  used  to 
speak  of  in  a  Avay  that  I  do  not  choose  to  mention.  Whether  she 
has  the  same  suspicions  with  Master  Simon  or  not,  I  cannot  say ; 
but  she  receives  his  civilities  with  no  better  grace  than  the  impla 
cable  Beauty ;  unscrewing  her  mouth  into  a  most  acid  smile,  and 
looking  as  though  she  could  bite  a  piece  out  of  him.  In  short, 
the  poor  general  seems  to  have  as  formidable  foes  to  contend  with 
as  a  hero  of  ancient  fairy  tale ;  who  had  to  fight  his  way  to  his 
enchanted  princess  through  ferocious  monsters  of  every  kind,  and 
to  encounter  the  brimstone  terrors  of  some  fiery  dragon. 

There  is  still  another  circumstance  which  inclines  me  to  give 
very  considerable  credit  to  Master  Simon's  suspicions.  Lady 
Lillycraft  is  very  fond  of  quoting  poetry,  and  the  conversation 
often  turns  upon  it,  on  which  occasions  the  general  is  thrown 
completely  out.  It  happened  the  other  day  that  Spenser's  Fairy 
Queen  was  the  theme  for  the  great  part  of  the  morning,  and  the 
poor  gentleman  sat  perfectly  silent.  I  found  him  not  long  after 
in  the  library,  with  spectacles  on  nose,  a  book  in  his  hand,  and 
fast  asleep.  On  my  approach  he  awoke,  slipped  the  spectacles 
into  his  pocket,  and  began  to  read  very  attentively.  After  a  lit 
tle  while  he  put  a  paper  in  the  place,  and  laid  the  volume  aside, 
which  I  perceived  was  the  Fairy  Queen.  I  have  had  the  curi 
osity  to  watch  how  he  got  on  in  his  poetical  studies ;  but,  though 
I  have  repeatedly  seen  him  with  the  book  in  his  hand,  yet  I  find 
the  paper  has  not  advanced  above  three  or  four  pages ;  the  gen 
eral  being  extremely  apt  to  fall  asleep  when  he  reads. 


FALCONRY. 

Ne  Is  there  hawk  which  mantleth  on  her  perch, 

Whether  high  tow'ring  or  accousting  low, 
But  I  the  measure  of  her  flight  doe  search, 

And  all  her  prey  and  all  her  diet  know. 

SPENSER. 

THERE  are  several  grand  sources  of  lamentation  furnished  to  the 
worthy  Squire,  by  the  improvement  of  society,  and  the  grievous 
advancement  of  knowledge ;  among  which  none,  I  believe,  causes 
him  more  frequent  regret  than  the  unfortunate  invention  of  gun 
powder.  To  this  he  continually  traces  the  decay  of  some  favorite 
custom,  and,  indeed,  the  general  downfall  of  all  chivalrous  and 
romantic  usages.  "  English  soldiers,"  he  says,  "  have  never  been 
the  men  they  were  in  the  days  of  the  cross-bow  and  the  long 
bow  ;  when  they  depended  upon  the  strength  of  the  arm,  and  the 
English  archer  could  draw  a  cloth-yard  shaft  to  the  head.  These 
were  the  times  when,  at  the  battles  of  Cressy,  Poictiers,  and  Agin- 
court,  the  French  chivalry  was  completely  destroyed  by  the  bow 
men  of  England.  The  yeomanry,  too,  have  never  been  what 
they  were,  when,  in  times  of  peace,  they  were  constantly  exercised 
with  the  bow,  and  archery  was  a  favorite  holiday  pastime." 

Among  the  other  evils  which  have  followed  in  the  train  of 
this  fatal  invention  of  gunpowder,  the  Squire  classes  the  total 
decline  of  the  noble  art  of  falconry.  "  Shooting,"  he  says,  "  is  a 


FALCONET.  113 

skulking,, treacherous,  solitary  sport  in  comparison;  but  hawking 
was  a  gallant,  open,  sunshiny  recreation ;  it  was  the  generous 
sport  of  hunting  carried  into  the  skies." 

"  It  was,  moreover,"  he  says,  "  according  to  Braithwaite,  the 
stately  amusement  of  '  high  and  mounting  spirits ; '  for,  as  the 
old  Welsh  proverb  affirms,  in  those  times  '  you  might  know  a  gen 
tleman  by  his  hawk,  horse,  and  greyhound.'  Indeed,  a  cavalier 
was  seldom  seen  abroad  without  his  hawk  on  his  fist ;  and  even  a 
lady  of  rank  did  not  think  herself  completely  equipped,  in  riding 
forth,  unless  she  had  her  tassel-gentel  held  by  jesses  on  her  deli 
cate  hand.  It  was  thought  in  those  excellent  days,  according  to 
an  old  writer,  ;  quite  sufficient  for  noblemen  to  winde  their  horn, 
and  to  carry  their  hawke  fair ;  and  leave  study  and  learning  to 
the  children  of  mean  people.' " 

Knowing  the  good  Squire's  hobby,  therefore,  I  have  not  been 
surprised  in  finding  that,  among  the  various  recreations  of  former 
times,  which  he  has  endeavored  to  revive  in  the  little  world  in 
which  he  rules,  he  has  bestowed  great  attention  on  the  noble  art 
of  falconry.  In  this  he,  of  course,  has  been  seconded  by  his  in 
defatigable  coadjutor,  Master  Simon ;  and  even  the  parson  has 
thrown  considerable  light  on  their  labors,  by  various  hints  on  the 
subject,  which  he  has  met  with  in  old  English  works.  As  to  the 
precious  work  of  that  famous  dame,  Juliana  Barnes ;  the  Gentle 
man's  Acaclemie,  by  Markham  ;  and  the  other  well-known  treati 
ses  that  were  the  manuals  of  ancient  sportsmen,  they  have  them 
at  their  fingers'  ends  ;  but  they  have  more  especially  studied  some 
old  tapestry  in  the  house,  whereon  is  represented  a  party  of  cav 
aliers  and  stately  dames,  with  doublets,  caps,  and  flaunting  feath 
ers,  mounted  on  horse,  with  attendants  on  foot,  all  in  animated 
pursuit  of  the  game. 


114  BEACEBKIDGE   TTAT.T.. 

The  Squire  has  discountenanced  the  killing  of  any  hawks  in 
his  neighborhood,  but  gives  a  liberal  bounty  for  all  that  are 
brought  him  alive ;  so  that  the  Hall  is  well  stocked  with  all  kinds 
of  birds  of  prey.  On  these  he  and  Master  Simon  have  exhausted 
their  patience  and  ingenuity,  endeavoring  to  "  reclaim  "  them,  as 
it  is  termed,  and  to  train  them  up  for  the  sport ;  but  they  have 
met  with  continual  checks  and  disappointments.  Their  feathered 
school  has  turned  out  the  most  untractable  and  graceless  scholars : 
nor  is  it  the  least  of  their  labor  to  drill  the  retainers  who  were  to 
act  as  ushers  under  them,  and  to  take  immediate  charge  of  these 
refractory  birds.  Old  Christy  and  the  gamekeeper  both,  for  a 
time,  set  their  faces  against  the  whole  plan  of  education  ;  Christy 
having  been  nettled  at  hearing  what  he  terms  a  wild-goose  chase 
put  on  a  par  with  a  fox-hunt ;  and  the  gamekeeper  having  always 
been  accustomed  to  look  upon  hawks  as  arrant  poachers,  which  it 
was  his  duty  to  shoot  down,  and  nail,  in  terrorem,  against  the 
out-houses. 

Christy  has  at  length  taken  the  matter  in  hand,  but  has  done 
still  more  mischief  by  his  intermeddling.  He  is  as  positive  and 
wrong-headed  about  this,  as  he  is  about  hunting.  Master  Simon 
has  continual  disputes  with  him  as  to  feeding  and  training  the 
hawks.  He  reads  to  him  long  passages  from  the  old  authors  I 
have  mentioned ;  but  Christy,  who  cannot  read,  has  a  sovereign 
contempt  for  all  book-knowledge,  and  persists  in  treating  the 
hawks  according  to  his  own  notions,  which  are  drawn  from  his 
experience,  in  younger  days,  in  the  rearing  of  game-cocks. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  between  these  jarring  systems,  the 
poor  birds  have  had  a  most  trying  and  unhappy  time  of  it.  Many 
have  fallen  victims  to  Christy's  feeding  and  Master  Simon's  phy 
sicking  ;  for  the  latter  has  gone  to  work  secundem  artem,  and  has 


FALCONET.  115 

given  them  all  the  vomitings  and  scourings  laid  down  in  the 
books ;  never  were  poor  hawks  so  fed  and  physicked  before. 
Others  have  been  lost  by  being  but  half  "  reclaimed  "  or  tamed : 
for  on  being  taken  into  the  field,  they  have  "  raked "  after  the 
game  quite  out  of  hearing  of  the  call,  and  never  returned  to 
school. 

All  these  disappointments  had  been  petty,  yet  sore  grievances 
to  the  Squire,  and  had  made  him  to  despond  about  success.  He 
has  lately,  however,  been  made  happy  by  the  receipt  of  a  fine 
Welsh  falcon,  which  Master  Simon  terms  a  stately  highflyer.  It 
is  a  present  from  the  Squire's  friend,  Sir  Watkyn  Williams 
Wynne ;  and  is,  no  doubt,  a  descendant  of  some  ancient  line  of 
Welsh  princes  of  the  air,  that  have  long  lorded  it  over  their  king 
dom  of  clouds,  from  Wynnstay  to  the  very  summit  of  Snowden, 
or  the  brow  of  Penmanmawr. 

Ever  since  the  Squire  received  this  invaluable  present,  he  has 
been  as  impatient  to  sally  forth  and  make  proof  of  it,  as  was  Don 
Quixote  to  assay  his  suit  of  armor.  There  have  been  some  de 
murs  as  to  whether  the  bird  was  in  proper  health  and  training^ 
but  these  have  been  overruled  by  the  vehement  desire  to  play 
with  a  new  toy ;  and  it  has  been  determined,  right  or  wrong,  in 
season  or  out  of  season,  to  have  a  day's  sport  in  hawking  to 
morrow. 

The  Hall,  as  usual,  whenever  the  Squire  is  about  to  make 
some  new  sally  on  his  hobby,  is  all  agog  with  the  thing.  Miss 
Templeton,  who  is  brought  up  in  reverence  for  all  her  guardian's 
humors,  has  proposed  to  be  of  the  party,  and  Lady  Lillycraft  has 
talked  also  of  riding  out  to  the  scene  of  action  and  looking  on. 
This  has  gratified  the  old  gentleman  extremely ;  he  hails  it  as  an 
auspicious  omen  of  the  revival  of  falconry,  and  does  not  despair 


116  BEACEBEIDGE   HAT.L.     „ 

but  the  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  again  the  pride  of  a  fine 
lady  to  carry  about  a  noble  falcon  in  ^preference  to  a  parrot  or.a 
lap-dog. 

I  have  amused  myself  with  the  bustling  preparations  of  that 
busy  spirit,  Master  Simon,  and  the  continual  thwartings  he  re 
ceives  from  that  genuine  son  of  a  pepper-box,  old  Christy.  They 
have  had  half  a  dozen  consultations  about  how  the  hawk  is  to  be 
prepared  for  the  morning's  sport.  Old  Nimrod,  as  usual,  has 
always  got  in  a  pet,  upon  which  Master  Simon  has  invariably 
given  up  the  point,  observing,  in  a  good-humored  tone,  "  Well, 
well,  have  it  your  own  way,  Christy ;  only  don't  put  yourself  in 
a  passion ; "  a  reply  which  always  nettles  the  old  man  ten  times 
more  than  ever. 


HAWKING. 

The  soaring  hawk,  from  fist  that  flies, 

Her  falconer  doth  constrain, 
Sometimes  to  range  the  ground  about, 

To  find  her  out  again ; 
And  if  by  sight,  or  sound  of  bell, 

His  falcon  he  may  sec, 
Wo  ho!  he  cries,  with  cheerful  voice — 

The  gladdest  man  is  he. 

HANDFULL  OF  PLEASANT  DELITES. 

AT  an  early  hour  this  morning  the  Hall  was  in  a  bustle,  prepar 
ing  for  the  sport  of  the  day.  I  heard  Master  Simon  whistling 
and  singing  under  my  window  at  sunrise,  as  he  was  preparing 
the  jesses  for  the  hawk's  legs,  and  could  distinguish  now  and 
then  a  stanza  of  one  of  his  favorite  old  ditties : 

"  In  peascod  time,  when  hound  to  horn 

Gives  note  that  buck  be  kill'd ; 
And  little  boy  with  pipe  of  corn 
Is  tending  sheep  a-field,"  &c. 

A  hearty  breakfast,  well  flanked  by  cold  meats,  was  served 
up  in  the  great  hall.  The  whole  garrison  of  retainers  and  hang 
ers-on  were  in  motion,  reinforced  by  volunteer  idlers  from  the  vil 
lage.  The  horses  were  led  up  and  down  before  the  door ;  every 


118  BRACEBRIDGE  HAIX. 

body  had  something  to  say,  and  something  to  do,  and  hurried 
hither  and  thither ;  there  was  a  direful  yelping  of  dogs ;  some 
that  were  to  accompany  us  being  eager  to  set  off,  and  others  that 
were  to  stay  at  home  being  whipped  back  to  their  kennels.  In 
short,  for  once,  the  good  Squire's  mansion  might  have  been  taken 
as  a  good  specimen  of  one  of  the  rantipole  establishments  of  the 
good  old  feudal  times. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  the  chivalry  of  the  Hall  prepared 
to  take  the  field.  The  fair  Julia  was  of  the  party,  in  a  hunting 
dress,  with  a  light  plume  o£  feathers  in  her  riding-hat.  As  she 
mounted  her  favorite  galloway,  I  remarked,  with  pleasure,  that 
old  Christy  forgot  his  usual  crustiness,  and  hastened  to  adjust  her 
saddle  and  bridle.  He  touched  his  cap  as  she  smiled  on  him  and 
thanked  him ;  and  then,  looking  round  at  the  other  attendants, 
gave  a  knowing  nod  of  his  head,  in  which  I  read  pride  and  ex 
ultation  at  the  charming  appearance  of  his  pupil. 

Lady  Lillycraft  had  likewise  determined  to  witness  the  sport. 
She  was  dressed  in  her  broad  white  beaver,  tied  under  the  chin, 
and  a  riding  habit  of  the  last  century.  She  rode  her  sleek,  am 
bling  pony,  whose  motion  was  as  easy  as  a  rocking-chair,  and 
was  gallantly  escorted  by  the  general,  who  looked  not  unlike  one 
of  the  doughty  heroes  in  the  old  prints  of  the  battle  of  Blenheim. 
The  parson,  likewise,  accompanied  her  on  the  other  side ;  for  this 
was  a  learned  amusement  in  which  he  took  great  interest ;  and 
indeed,  had  given  much  counsel,  from  his  knowledge  of  old 
customs. 

At  length  every  thing  was  arranged,  and  we  set  off  from  the 
Hall.  The  exercise  on  horseback  puts  one  in  fine  spirits ;  and 
the  scene  was  gay  and  animating.  The  young  men  of  the  family 
accompanied  Miss  Templeton.  She  sat  lightly  and  gracefully  in 


HAWKING.  119 

her  saddle,  her  plumes  dancing  and  waving  in  the  air ;  and  the 
group  had  a  charming  effect  as  they  appeared  and  disappeared 
among  the  trees,  cantering  along  with  the  bounding  animation  of 
youth.  The  Squire  and  Master  Simon  rode  together,  accompa 
nied  by  old  Christy,  mounted  on  Pepper.  The  latter  bore  the 
hawk  on  his  fist,  as  he  insisted  the  bird  was  most  accustomed  to 
him.  There  was  a  rabble  rout  on  foot,  composed  of  retainers 
from  the  Hall,  and  some  idlers  from  the  village,  with  two  or  three 
spaniels,  for  the  purpose  of  starting  the  game. 

A  kind  of  corps  de  reserve  came  on  quietly  in  the  rear,  com 
posed  of  Lady  Lillycraft,  General  Harbottle,  the  parson,  and  a 
fat  footman.  Her  ladyship  ambled  gently  along  on  her  pony, 
while  the  general,  mounted  on  a  tall  hunter,  looked  down  upon 
her  with  an  air  of  the  most  protecting  gallantry. 

For  my  part,  being  no  sportsman,  I  kept  with  this  last  party, 
or  rather  lagged  behind,  that  I  might  take  in  the  whole  picture ; 
and  the  parson  occasionally  slackened  his  pace  and  jogged  on  in 
company  with  me. 

The  sport  led  us  at  some  distance  from  the  Hall,  in  a  soft 
meadow,  reeking  with  the  moist  verdure  of  spring.  A  little  river 
ran  through  it,  bordered  by  willows,  which  had  put  forth  their 
tender  early  foliage.  The  sportsmen  were  in  quest  of  herons 
which  were  said  to  keep  about  this  stream. 

There  was  some  disputing,  already,  among  the  leaders  of  the 
sport.  The  Squire,  Master  Simon,  and  old  Christy,  came  every  now 
and  then  to  a  pause,  to  consult  together,  like  the  field-officers  in 
an  army ;  and  I  saw,  by  certain  motions  of  the  head,  that  Christy 
was  as  positive  as  any  old  wrong-headed  German  commander. 

As  we  were  prancing  up  this  quiet  meadow  every  sound  we 
made  was  answered  by  a  distinct  echo  from  the  sunny  wall  of  an 


120  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

old  building  on  the  opposite  margin  of  the  stream ;  and  I  paused 
to  listen  to  this  "  spirit  of  a  sound,"  which  seems  to  love  such 
quiet  and  beautiful  places.  The  parson  informed  me  that  this 
was  the  ruin  of  an  ancient  grange,  and  was  supposed,  by  the 
country  people,  to  be  haunted  by  a  dobbie,  a  kind  of  rural  sprite, 
something  like  Eobin  Good-fellow.  They  often  fancied  the  echo 
to  be  the  voice  of  the  dobbie  answering  them,  and  were  rather 
shy  of  disturbing  it  after  dark.  He  added,  that  the  Squire  was 
very  careful  of  this  ruin,  on  account  of  the  superstition  connected 
with  it.  As  I  considered  this  local  habitation  of  an  "  airy  no 
thing,"  I  called  to  mind  the  fine  description  of  an  echo  in  Web 
ster's  Duchess  of  Malfy : 

"  Yond  side  o'  th'  river  lies  a  wall, 


Piece  of  a  cloister,  which  in  my  opinion 
Gives  the  hest  echo  that  you  ever  heard  : 
So  plain  is  the  distinction  of  our  words, 
That  many  have  supposed  it  a  spirit 
That  answers. 

The  parson  went  on  to  comment  on  a  pleasing  and  fanciful 
appellation  which  the  Jews  of  old  gave  to  the  echo,  which  they 
called  Bath-kool,  that  is  to  say,  "  the  daughter  of  the  voice ; " 
they  considered  it  an  oracle,  supplying  in  the  second  temple  the 
want  of  the  urim  and  thummim,  with  which  the  first  was  hon 
ored.*  The  little  man  was  just  entering  very  largely  and  learn 
edly  upon  the  subject,  when  we  were  startled  by  a  prodigious 
bawling,  shouting,  and  yelping.  A  flight  of  crows,  alarmed  by 
the  approach  of  our  forces,  had  suddenly  rose  from  a  meadow ;  a 
cry  was  put  up  by  the  rabble  rout  on  foot.  "  Now,  Christy !  now 

*  Beleker's  Monde  enchantc. 


HAWKING.  121 

is  your  time,  Christy ! "  The  Squire  and  Master  Simon,  who 
were  beating  up  the  river  banks  in  quest  of  a  heron,  called  out 
eagerly  to  Christy  to  keep  quiet ;  the  old  man,  vexed  and  bewil 
dered  by  the  confusion  of  voices,  completely  lost  his  head ;  in  his 
flurry  he  slipped  off  the  hood,  cast  off  the  falcon,  and  away  flew 
the  crows,  and  away  soared  the  hawk. 

I  had  paused  on  a  rising  ground,  close  to  Lady  Lillycraft  and 
her  escort,  whence  I  had  a  good  view  of  the  sport.  I  was  pleased 
with  the  appearance  of  the  party  in  the  meadow,  riding  along  in 
the  direction  that  the  bird  flew ;  their  bright  beaming  faces  turned 
up  to  the  bright  skies  as  they  watched  the  game ;  the  attendants 
on  foot  scampering  along,  looking  up,  and  calling  out ;  and  the 
dogs  bounding  and  yelping  with  clamorous  sympathy. 

The  hawk  had  singled  out  a  quarry  from  among  the  carrion 
crew.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  efforts  of  the  two  birds  to  get 
above  each  other ;  one  to  make  the  fatal  swoop,  the  other  to  avoid 
it.  Now  they  crossed  athwart  a  bright  feathery  cloud,  and  now 
they  were  against  a  clear  blue  sky.  I  confess,  being  no  sports 
man,  I  was  more  interested  for  the  poor  bird  that  was  striving  for 
its  life,  than  for  the  hawk  that  was  playing  the  part  of  a  merce 
nary  soldier.  At  length  the  hawk  got  the  upper  hand,  and  made 
a  rushing  stoop  at  her  quarry,  but  the  latter  made  as  sudden  a 
surge  downwards,  and  slanting  up  again,  evaded  the  blow,  scream 
ing  and  making  the  best  of  his  way  for  a  dry  tree  on  the  brow  of 
a  neighboring  hill ;  while  the  hawk,  disappointed  of  her  blow, 
soared  up  again  into  the  air,  and  appeared  to  be  "  raking"  off.  It 
was  in  vain  old  Christy  called,  and  whistled,  and  endeavored  to 
lure  her  down ;  she  paid  no  regard  to  him :  and,  indeed,  his  calls 
were  drowned  in  the  shouts  and  yelps  of  the  army  of  militia  that 
had  followed  him  into  the  field. 


122  BKACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Just  then  an  exclamation  from  Lady  Lillycraft  made  me  turn 
my  head.  I  beheld  a  complete  confusion  among  the  sportsmen 
in  the  little  vale  below  us.  They  were  galloping  and  running 
towards  the  edge  of  a  bank  ;  and  I  was  shocked  to  see  Miss  Tem- 
pleton's  horse  galloping  at  large  without  his  rider.  I  rode  to  the 
place  to  which  the  others  were  hurrying,  and  when  I  reached  the 
bank,  which  almost  overhung  the  stream,  I  saw  at  the  foot  of  it, 
the  fair  Julia,  pale,  bleeding,  and  apparently  lifeless,  supported 
in  the  arms  of  her  frantic  lover. 

In  galloping  heedlessly  along,  with  her  eyes  turned  upward, 
she  had  unwarily  approached  too  near  the  bank ;  it  had  given 
way  with  her,  and  she  and  her  horse  had  been  precipitated  to  the 
pebbled  margin  of  the  river. 

I  never  saw  greater  consternation.  The  captain  was  dis 
tracted  ;  Lady  Lillycraft  fainting,  the  Squire  in  dismay,  and 
Master  Simon  at  his  wit's  ends.  The  beautiful  creature  at  length 
showed  signs  of  returning  life ;  she  opened  her  eyes ;  looked 
around  her  upon  the  anxious  group,  and  comprehending  in  a  mo 
ment  the  nature  of  the  scene,  gave  a  sweet  smile,  and  putting  her 
hand  in  her  lover's,  exclaimed  feebly,  "  I  am  not  much  hurt,  Guy!  " 
I  could  have  taken  her  to  my  heart  for  that  single  exclamation. 

It  was  found,  indeed,  that  she  had  escaped  almost  miracu 
lously,  with  a  contusion  of  the  head,  a  sprained  ankle,  and  some 
slight  bruises.  After  her  wound  was  stanched,  she  was  taken  to 
a  neighboring  cottage,  until  a  carriage  could  be  summoned  to 
convey  her  home ;  and  when  this  had  arrived,  the  cavalcade, 
which  had  issued  forth  so  gayly  on  this  enterprise,  returned  slowly 
and  pensively  to  the  Hall. 

I  had  been  charmed  by  the  generous  spirit  shown  by  this 
young  creature,  who  amidst  pain  and  danger,  had  been  anxious 


HAWKING.  123 

only  to  relieve  the  distress  of  those  around  her.  I  was  gratified, 
therefore,  by  the  universal  concern  displayed  by  the  domestics  on 
our  return.  They  came  crowding  down  the  avenue,  each  eager 
to  render  assistance.  The  butler  stood  ready  with  some  curiously 
delicate  cordial ;  the  old  housekeeper  was  provided  with  half  a 
dozen  nostrums,  prepared  by  her  own  hands,  according  to  the 
family  receipt  book ;  while  her  niece,  the  melting  Phoebe,  having 
no  other  way  of  assisting,  stood  wringing  her  hands,  and  weeping 
aloud. 

The  most  material  effect  that  is  likely  to  follow  this  accident, 
is  a  postponement  of  the  nuptials,  which  were  close  at  hand. 
Though  I  commiserate  the  impatience  of  the  captain  on  that  ac 
count,  yet  I  should  not  otherwise  be  sorry  at  the  delay,  as  it  will 
give  me  a  better  opportunity  of  studying  the  characters  here 
assembled,  with  which  I  grow  more  and  more  entertained. 

I  cannot  but  perceive  that  the  worthy  Squire  is  quite  discon 
certed  at  the  unlucky  result  of  his  hawking  experiment,  and  this 
unfortunate  illustration  of  his  eulogy  on  female  equitation.  Old 
Christy,  too,  is  very  waspish,  having  been  sorely  twitted  by  Mas 
ter  Simon  for  having  let  his  hawk  fly  at  carrion.  As  to  the  fal 
con,  in  the  confusion  occasioned  by  the  fair  Julia's  disaster,  the 
bird  was  totally  forgotten.  I  make  no  doubt  she  has  made  the 
best  of  her  way  back  to  the  hospitable  hall  of  Sir  Watkyn  Wil 
liams  Wynne ;  and  may  very  possibly,  at  this  present  writing,  be 
pluming  her  wings  among  the  breezy  bowers  of  Wynnstay. 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 

0  'tis  a  fearful  thing  to  be  no  more. 

Or  if  to  be,  to  wander  after  death ! 

To  walk  as  spirits  do,  in  brakes  all  day, 

And,  when  the  darkness  comes,  to  glide  in  paths 

That  lead  to  graves;  and  in  the  silent  vault, 

"Where  lies  your  own  pale  shroud,  to  hover  o'er  it, 

Striving  to  enter  your  forbidden  corpse. 

DBYDEN. 

THE  conversation  this  evening  at  supper-table  took  a  curious  turn 
on  the  subject  of  a  superstition,  formerly  very  prevalent  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  relative  to  the  present  night  of  the  year, 
which  is  the  Eve  of  St.  Mark's.  It  was  believed,  the  parson  in 
formed  us,  that  if  any  one  would  watch  in  the  church  porch  on 
this  eve,  for  three  successive  years,  from  eleven  to  one  o'clock  at 
night,  he  would  see  on  the  third  year  the  shades  of  those  of  the 
parish  who  were  to  die  in  the  course  of  the  year,  pass  by  him  into 
church,  clad  in  their  usual  apparel. 

Dismal  as  such  a  sight  would  be,  he  assured  us  that  it  was 
formerly  a  frequent  thing  for  persons  to  make  the  necessary 
vigils.  He  had  known  more  than  one  instance  in  his  time.  One 
old  woman,  who  pretended  to  have  seen  this  phantom  procession, 
was  an  object  of  great  awe  for  the  whole  year  afterwards,  and 
caused  much  uneasiness  and  mischief.  If  she  shook  her  head 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE.  125 

mysteriously  at  a  person,  it  was  like  a  death  warrant ;  and  she 
had  nearly  caused  the  death  of  a  sick  person  by  looking  ruefully 
in  at  the  window. 

There  was  also  an  old  man,  not  many  years  since,  of  a  sul 
len,  melancholy  temperament,  who  had  kept  two  vigils,  and  be 
gan  to  excite  some  talk  in  the  village,  when,  fortunately  for  the 
public  comfort,  he  died  shortly  after  his  third  watching ;  very 
probably  from  a  cold  that  he  had  taken,  as  the  night  was  tem 
pestuous.  It  was  reported  about  the  village,  however,  that  he 
had  seen  his  own  phantom  pass  by  him  into  the  church. 

This  led  to  the  mention  of  another  superstition  of  an  equally 
strange  and  melancholy  kind,  which,  however,  is  chiefly  confined 
to  Wales.  It  is  respecting  what  are  called  corpse  candles,  little 
wandering  fires,  of  a  pale  bluish  light,  that  move  about  like 
tapers  in  the  open  air,  and  are  supposed  to  designate  the  way 
some  corpse  is  to  go.  One  was  seen  at  Lanylar,  late  at  night, 
hovering  up  and  down,  along  the  bank  of  the  Istwith,  and  was 
watched  by  the  neighbors  until  they  were  tired,  and  went  to  bed. 
Not  long  afterwards  there  came  a  comely  country  lass,  from 
Montgomeryshire,  to  see  her  friends,  who  dwelt  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  river.  She  thought  to  ford  the  stream  at  the  very 
place  where  the  light  had  been  first  seen,  but  was  dissuaded  on 
account  of  the  height  of  the  flood.  She  walked  to  and  fro  along 
the  bank,  just  where  the  candle  had  moved,  waiting  for  the  sub 
siding  of  the  water.  She  at  length  endeavored  to  cross,  but  the 
poor  girl  was  drowned  in  the  attempt.* 

There  was  something  mournful  in  this  little  anecdote  of  rural 
superstition,  that  seemed  to  affect  all  the  listeners.  Indeed,  it  is 
curious  to  remark  how  completely  a  conversation  of  the  kind  will 
*  Aubrey's  Miscel. 


126  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

absorb  the  attention  of  a  circle,  and  sober  down  its  gayety,  how 
ever  boisterous.  By  degrees  I  noticed  that  every  one  was  lean 
ing  forward  over  the  table,  with  eyes  earnestly  fixed  upon  the 
parson,  and  at  the  mention  of  corpse  candles  which  had  been  seen 
about  the  chamber  of  a  young  lady  who  died  on  the  eve  of  her 
wedding-day,  Lady  Lillycraft  turned  pale. 

I  have  witnessed  the  introduction  of  stories  of  the  kind  into 
various  evening  circles ;  they  were  often  commenced  in  jest,  and 
listened  to  with  smiles ;  but  I  never  knew  the  most  gay  or  the 
most  enlightened  of  audiences,  that  were  not,  if  the  conversation 
continued  for  any  length  of  time,  completely  and  solemnly  inter 
ested  in  it.  There  is,  I  believe,  a  degree  of  superstition  lurking 
in  every  mind ;  and  I  doubt  if  any  one  can  thoroughly  examine 
all  his  secret  notions  and  impulses  without  detecting  it,  hidden, 
perhaps,  even  from  himself.  It  seems,  in  fact,  to  be  a  part  of 
our  nature,  like  instinct  in  animals,  acting  independently  of  our 
reason.  It  is  often  found  existing  in  lofty  natures,  especially 
those  that  are  poetical  and  aspiring.  A  great  and  extraordinary 
poet  of  our  day,  whose  life  and  writings  evince  a  mind  subject  to 
powerful  exaltations,  is  said  to  believe  in  omens  and  secret  inti 
mations.  Caesar,  it  is  well  known,  was  greatly  under  the  influ 
ence  of  such  belief;  and  Napoleon  had  his  good  and  evil  days, 
and  his  presiding  star. 

As  to  the  worthy  parson,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is  strongly 
inclined  to  superstition.  He  is  naturally  credulous,  and  passes 
so  much  of  his  time  searching  out  popular  traditions  and  super 
natural  tales,  that  his  mind  has  probably  become  infected  by 
them.  He  has  lately  been  immersed  in  the  Demouolatria  of 
Nicholas  Remigius,  concerning  supernatural  occurrences  in  Lor 
raine,  and  the  writings  of  Joachimus  Camerarius,  called  by  Vos- 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE.  127 

sius  the  Phoenix  of  Germany ;  and  he  entertains  the  ladies  with 
stories  from  them,  that  make  them  almost  afraid  to  go  to  bed  at 
night.  I  have  been  charmed  myself  with  some  of  the  wild  little 
superstitions  which  he  has  adduced  from  Blefkenius,  Scheffer, 
and  others,  such  as  those  of  the  Laplanders  about  the  domestic 
spirits  which  wake  them  at  night,  and  summon  them  to  go  and 
fish ;  of  Thor,  the  deity  of  thunder,  who  has  power  of  life  and 
death,  health  and  sickness,  and  who,  armed  with  the  rainbow, 
shoots  his  arrows  at  those  evil  demons  which  live  on  the  tops  of  rocks 
and  mountains,  and  infest  the  lakes  ;  of  the  Juhles  or  Juhlafolket, 
vagrant  troops  of  spirits,  which  roam  the  air,  and  wander  up  and 
down  by  forests  and  mountains,  and  the  moonlight  sides  of  hills. 

The  parson  never  openly  professes  his  belief  in  ghosts,  but  I 
have  remarked  that  he  has  a  suspicious  way  of  pressing  great 
names  into  the  defence  of  supernatural  doctrines,  and  making 
philosophers  and  saints  fight  for  him.  He  expatiates  at  large  on 
the  opinions  of  the  ancient  philosophers  about  larves,  or  noctur 
nal  phantoms,  the  spirits  of  the  wicked,  which  wandered  like  ex 
iles  about  the  earth  ;  and  about  those  spiritual  beings  which 
abode  in  the  air,  but  descended  occasionally  to  earth,  and  mingled 
among  mortals,  acting  as  agents  between  them  and  the  gods. 
He  quotes  also  from  Philo  the  rabbi,  the  contemporary  of  the 
apostles,  and,  according  to  some,  the  friend  of  St.  Paul,  who  says 
that  the  air  is  full  of  spirits  of  different  ranks  ;  some  destined  for 
a  time  to  exist  in  mortal  bodies,  from  which,  being  emancipated, 
they  pass  and  repass  between  heaven  and  earth,  as  agents  or 
messengers  in  the  service  of  the  Deity. 

But  the  worthy  little  man  assumes  a  bolder  tone  when  he 
quotes  from  the  fathers  of  the  church ;  such  as  St.  Jerome,  who 
gives  it  as  the  opinion  of  all  the  doctors,  that  the  air  is  filled  with 


128  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

powers  opposed  to  each  other ;  and  Lactantius,  who  says  that 
corrupt  and  dangerous  spirits  wander  over  the  earth,  and  seek  to 
console  themselves  for  their  own  fall  by  effecting  the  ruin  of  the 
human  race ;  and  Clemens  Alexandrinus,  who  is  of  opinion  that 
the  souls  of  the  blessed  have  knowledge  of  what  passes  among 
men,  the  same  as  angels  have. 

I  am  now  alone  in  my  chamber,  but  these  themes  have  taken 
such  hold  of  my  imagination,  that  I  cannot  sleep.  The  room  in 
which  I  sit  is  just  fitted  to  foster  such  a  state  of  mind.  The 
walls  are  hung  with  tapestry,  the  figures  of  which  are  faded,  and 
look  like  unsubstantial  shapes  melting  away  from  sight.  Over 
the  fireplace  is  the  portrait  of  a  lady,  who,  according  to  the 
housekeeper's  tradition,  pined  to  death  for  the  loss  of  her  lover 
in  the  battle  of  Blenheim.  She  has  a  most  pale  and  plaintive 
countenance,  and  seems  to  fix  her  eyes  mournfully  upon  me.  The 
family  have  long  since  retired.  I  have  heard  their  steps  die  away, 
and  the  distant  doors  clap  to  after  them.  The  murmur  of  voices, 
and  the  peal  of  remote  laughter,  no  longer  reach  the  ear.  The 
clock  from  the  church,  in  which  so  many  of  the  former  inhabitants 
of  this  house  lie  buried,  has  chimed  the  awful  hour  of  midnight. 

I  have  sat  by  the  window  and  mused  upon  the  dusky  land 
scape,  watching  the  lights  disappearing,  one  by  one,  from  the 
distant  village ;  and  the  moon  rising  in  her  silent  majesty,  and 
leading  up  all  the  silver  pomp  of  heaven.  As  I  have  gazed  upon 
these  quiet  groves  and  shadowy  lawns,  silvered  over,  and  imper 
fectly  lighted  by  streaks  of  dewy  moonshine,  my  mind  has  been 
crowded  by  "  thick  coming  fancies,"  concerning  those  spiritual 
beings  which 

" walk  the  earth 


Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 


ST.    MARK'S   EVE.  129 

Are  there,  indeed,  such  beings?  Is  this  space  between  us 
and  the  Deity  filled  up  by  innumerable  orders  of  spiritual  beings 
forming  the  same  gradations  between  the  human  soul  and  divine 
perfection,  that  we  see  prevailing  from  humanity  downwards  to 
the  meanest  insect  1  It  is  a  sublime  and  beautiful  doctrine,  in 
culcated  by  the  early  fathers,  that  there  are  guardian  angels  ap 
pointed  to  watch  over  cities  and  nations ;  to  take  care  of  the 
welfare  of  good  men,  and  to  guard  and  guide  the  steps  of  help 
less  infancy.  "  Nothing,"  says  St.  Jerome,  "  gives  us  a  greater 
idea  of  the  dignity  of  our  soul,  than  that  God  has  given  each  of 
us,  at  the  moment  of  our  birth,  an  angel  to  have  care  of  it." 

Even  the  doctrine  of  departed  spirits  returning  to  visit  the 
scenes  and  beings  which  were  dear  to  them  during  the  body's 
existence,  though  it  has  been  debased  by  the  absurd  superstitions 
of  the  vulgar,  in  itself  is  awfully  solemn  and  sublime.  However 
lightly  it  may  be  ridiculed,  yet  the  attention  involuntarily 
yielded  to  it  whenever  it  is  made  the  subject  of  serious  discus 
sion  ;  its  prevalence  in  all  ages  and  countries,  and  even  among 
newly-discovered  nations,  that  have  had  no  previous  interchange 
of  thought  with  other  parts  of  the  world,  prove  it  to  be  one  of 
those  mysterious,  and  almost  instinctive  beliefs,  to  which,  if  left 
to  ourselves,  we  should  naturally  incline. 

In  spite  of  all  the  pride  of  reason  and  philosophy,  a  vague 
doubt  will  still  lurk  in  the  mind,  and  perhaps  will  never  be  per 
fectly  eradicated ;  as  it  is  concerning  a  matter  that  does  not  ad 
mit  of  positive  demonstration.  Every  thing  connected  with  our 
spiritual  nature  is  full  of  doubt  and  difficulty.  "  We  are  fear 
fully  and  wonderfully  made  ;  "  we  are  surrounded  by  mysteries, 
and  we  are  mysteries  even  to  ourselves.  Who  yet  has  been  able 
to  comprehend  and  describe  the  nature  of  the  soul,  its  connection 
6* 


130  BRACEBRIDGE   TTAT.T.. 

with  the  body,  or  in  what  part  of  the  frame  it  is  situated  ?  We 
know  merely  that  it  does  exist ;  but  whence  it  came,  and  when 
it  entered  into  us,  and  how  it  is  retained,  and  where  it  is  seated, 
and  how  it  operates,  are  all  matters  of  mere  speculation,  and  con 
tradictory  theories.  If,  then,  we  are  thus  ignorant  of  this  spirit 
ual  essence,  even  while  it  forms  a  part  of  ourselves,  and  is  con 
tinually  present  to  our  consciousness,  how  can  we  pretend  to  as 
certain  or  to  deny  its  powers  and  operations  when  released  from 
its  fleshly  prison-house?  It  is  more  the  manner,  therefore,  in 
which  this  superstition  has  been  degraded,  than  its  intrinsic  ab 
surdity,  that  has  brought  it  into  contempt.  Eaise  it  above  the 
frivolous  purposes  to  which  it  has  been  applied,  strip  it  of  the 
gloom  and  horror  with  winch  it  has  been  surrounded,  and  none 
of  the  whole  circle  of  visionary  creeds  could  more  delightfully 
elevate  the  imagination,  or  more  tenderly  affect  the  heart.  It 
would  become  a  sovereign  comfort  at  the  bed  of  death,  soothing 
the  bitter  tear  wrung  from  us  by  the  agony  of  our  mortal  sepa 
ration.  What  could  be  more  consoling  than  the  idea,  that  the 
souls  of  those  whom  we  once  loved,  were  permitted  to  return  and 
watch  over  our  welfare  ?  That  affectionate  and  guardian  spirits 
sat  l>y  our  pillows  when  we  slept,  keeping  a  vigil  over  our  most 
helpless  hours  ?  That  beauty  and  iqnocence  which  had  languished 
into  the  tomb,  yet  smiled  unseen  around  us,  revealing  themselves 
in  those  blest  dreams  wherein  we  live  ov«r  again  the  hours  of  past 
endearment  ?  A  belief  of  this  kind  would,  I  should  think,  be  a 
new  incentive  to  virtue ;  rendering  us  circumspect  even  in  our 
secret  moments,  from  the' idea  that  those  we  once  loved  and  hon 
ored  were  invisible  witnesses  of  all  our  actions. 

1 1  would  take  away,  too;  from  that  loneliness  and  destitution 
which  we  are  apt  to  feel  more  and  more  as  we  get.  on  in  our  pil- 

" 

"""»*••« 

* 


ST.    MAEK'S   EVE  131 

grimage  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world,  and  find  that  those 
who  set  forward  with  us,  lovingly,  and  cheerily,  on  the  journey, 
have  one  by  one  dropped  away  from  our  side.  Place  the  super 
stition  in  this  light,  and  I  confess  I  should  like  to  be  a  believer  in 
it.  I  see  nothing  in  it  that  is  incompatible  with  the  tender  and 
merciful  nature  of  our  religion,  nor  revolting  to  the  wishes  and 
affections  of  the  heart. 

There  are  departed  beings  whom  I  have  loved  as  I  never  again 
shall  love  in  this  world ; — who  have  loved  me  as  I  never  again 
shall  be  loved !  If  such  beings  do  ever  retain  in  their  blessed 
spheres  the  attachments  which  they  felt  on  earth ;  if  they  take  an 
interest  in  the  poor  concerns  of  transient  mortality,  and  are  per 
mitted  to  hold  communion  with  those  whom  they  have  loved  on 
earth,  I  feel  as  if  now,  at  this  deep  hour  of  night,  in  this  silence 
and  solitude,  I  could  receive  their  visitation  with  the  most  solemn, 
but  unalloyed  delight. 

In  truth,  such  visitations  would  be  too  happy  for  this  world ; 
they  would  be  incompatible  with  the  nature  of  this  imperfect  state 
of  being.  We  are  here  placed  in  a  mere  scene  of  spiritual  thral 
dom  and  restraint.  Our  souls  are  shut  in  and  limited  by  bounds 
and  barriers ;  shackled  by  mortal  infirmities,  and  subject  4o  all 
the  gross  impediments  of  matter.  In  vain  would  they  seek  to 
act  independently  of  the  body,  and  to  mingle  together  in  spiritual 
intercourse.  They  can  only  act  here  through  their  fleshly  organs. 
Their  earthly  loves  are  made  up  of  transient  embraces  and  long 
separations.  The  most  intimate  friendship,  of  what  brief  and 
scattered  portions  of  time  does  it  consist !  We  take  each  other 
by  the  hand,  and  we  exchange  a  few  words  and  looks  of  kindness, 
and  we  rejoice  together  for  a  few  short  moments,  and  then  days, 
months,  years  intervene,  and  we  see  and  know  nothing  of  each 


132  BKACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

other.  Or,  granting  that  we  dwell  together  for  the  full  season  of 
this  our  mortal  life,  the  grave  soon  closes  its  gates  between  us, 
and  then  our  spirits  are  doomed  to  remain  in  separation  and 
widowhood ;  until  they  meet  again  in  that  more  perfect  state  of 
being,  where  soul  will  dwell  with  soul  in  blissful  communion,  and 
there  will  be  neither  death,  nor  absence,  nor  any  thing  else  to  in 
terrupt  our  felicity. 


*#*  In  the  foregoing  paper  I  have  alluded  to  the  writings  of 
some  of  the  old  Jewish  rabbins.  They  abound  with  wild  theo 
ries  ;  but  among  them  are  many  truly  poetical  flights ;  and  their 
ideas  are  often  very  beautifully  expressed.  Their  speculations  on 
the  nature  of  angels  are  curious  and  fanciful,  though  much  resem 
bling  the  doctrines  of  the  ancient  philosophers.  In  the  writings 
of  the  Eabbi  Eleazer  is  an  account  of  the  temptation  of  our  first 
parents,  and  the  fall  of  the  angels,  which  the  parson  pointed  out 
to  me  as  having  probably  furnished  some  of  the  groundwork  for 
"  Paradise  Lost." 

According  to  Eleazer,  the  ministering  angels  said  to  the 
Deity,  "  What  is  there  in  man  that  thou  makest  him  of  such  im 
portance  ?  Is  he  any  thing  else  than  vanity  1  for  he  can  scarcely 
reason  a  little  on  terrestrial  things."  To  which  God  replied, 
"  Do  you  imagine  that  I  will  be  exalted  and  glorified  only  by  you 
here  above  ?  I  am  the  same  below  that  I  am  here.  Who  is 
there  among  you  that  can  call  all  the  creatures  by  their  names ! " 
There  was  none  found  among  them  that  could  do  so.  At  that 
moment  Adam  arose,  and  called  all  the  creatures  by  their  name. 
Seeing  which,  the  ministering  angels  said  among  themselves, 


ST.    MARK'S   EVE.  133 

"  Let  us  consult  together  how  we  may  cause  Adam  to  sin  against 
the  Creator,  otherwise  he  will  not  fail  to  become  our  master." 

Sammael,  who  was  a  great  prince  in  the  heavens,  was  present 
at  this  council,  with  the  saints  of  the  first  order,  and  the  seraphim 
of  six  bands.  Sammael  chose  several  out  of  the  twelve  orders  to 
accompany  him,  and  descended  below,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting 
all  the  creatures  which  God  had  created.  He  found  none  more 
cunning  and  more  fit  to  do  evil  than  the  serpent. 

The  Eabbi  then  treats  of  the  seduction  and  the  fall  of  man ; 
of  the  consequent  fall  of  the  demon,  and  the  punishment  which 
God  inflicted  on  Adam,  Eve,  and  the  serpent.  "  He  made  them 
all  come  before  him ;  pronounced  nine  maledictions  on  Adam  and 
Eve,  and  condemned  them  to  suffer  death ;  and  he  precipitated 
Sammael  and  all  his  band  from  heaven.  He  cut  off  the  feet  of 
the  serpent,  which  had  before  the  figure  of  a  camel,  (Sammael 
having  been  mounted  on  him,)  and  he  cursed  him  among  all 
beasts  and  animals." 


GENTILITY. 


•  True  Gentrie  standeth  In  the  trade 


.   Of  virtuous  life,  not  in  the  fleshly  line ; 
For  bloud  is  knit,  but  Gentrie  is  divine. 

MIEBOR  FOB  MAGISTRATES. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  some  peculiarities  of  the  Squire  in  the  educa 
tion  of  his  sons  ;  but  I  would  not  have  it  thought  that  his  instruc 
tions  were  directed  chiefly  to  their  personal  accomplishments.  He 
took  great  pains  also  to  form  their  minds,  and  to  inculcate  what 
he  calls  good  old  English  principles,  such  as  are  laid  down  in  the 
writings  of  Peachem  and  his  contemporaries.  There  is  one  au 
thor  of  whom  he  cannot  speak  without  indignation,  which  is 
Chesterfield.  He  avers  that  he  did  much,  for  a  time,  to  injure 
the  true  national  character,  and  to  introduce  instead  of  open 
manly  sincerity,  a  hollow  perfidious  courtliness.  "  His  maxims," 
he  affirms,  "  were  calculated  to  chill  the  delightful  enthusiasm  of 
youth,  and  to  make  them  ashamed  of  that  romance  which  is  the 
dawn  of  generous  manhood,  and  to  impart  to  them  a  cold  polish 
and  a  premature  worldliness." 

"  Many  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  maxims  would  make  a  young 
man  a  mere  man  of  pleasure ;  but  an  English  gentleman  should 
not  be  a  mere  man  of  pleasure.  He  has  no  right  to  such  selfish 
indulgence.  His  ease,  his  leisure,  his  opulence,  are  debts  due  to 


GENTILITY.  135 

his  country,  which  he  must  ever  stand  ready  to  discharge.  He 
should  be  a  man  at  all  points ;  simple,  frank,  courteous,  intelli 
gent,  accomplished,  and  informed ;  upright,  intrepid,  and  disin 
terested  ;  one  who  can  mingle  among  freemen ;  who  can  cope  with 
statesmen ;  who  can  champion  his  country  and  its  rights  either  at 
home  or  abroad.  In  a  country  like  England,  where  there  is  such 
free  and  unbounded  scope  for  the  exertion  of  intellect,  and  where 
opinion  and  example  have  such  weight  with  the  people,  every 
gentleman  of  fortune  and  leisure  should  feel  himself  bound  to 
employ  himself  in  some  way  towards  promoting  the  prosperity  or 
glory  of  the  nation.  In  a  country  where  intellect  and  action  are 
trammelled  and  restrained,  men  of  rank  and  fortune  may  become 
idlers  and  triflers  with  impunity ;  but  an  English  coxcomb  is 
inexcusable ;  and  this,  perhaps,  is  the  reason  why  he  is  the  most 
offensive  and  insupportable  coxcomb  in  the  world." 

The  Squire,  as  Frank  Bracebridge  informs  me,  would  often 
hold  forth  in  this  manner  to  his  sons  when  they  were  about  leav 
ing  the  paternal  roof;  one  to  travel  abroad,  one  to  go  to  the  army, 
and  one  to  the  university.  He  used  to  have  them  with  him  in 
the  library,  which  is  hung  with  the  portraits  of  Sydney,  Surrey, 
Kaleigh,  Wyat,  and  others.  "  Look  at  those  models  of  true  Eng 
lish  gentlemen,  my  sons,"  he  would  say  with  enthusiasm ;  "  those 
were  men  that  wreathed  the  graces  of  the  most  delicate  and  re 
fined  taste  around  the  stern  virtues  of  the  soldier ;  that  mingled 
what  was  gentle  and  gracious,  with  what  was  hardy  and  manly ; 
that  possessed  the  true  chivalry  of  spirit  which  is  the  exalted 
essence  of  manhood.  They  are  the  lights  by  which  the  youth  of 
the  country  should  array  themselves.  They  were  the  patterns  and 
idols  of  their  country  at,  home ;  they  were  the  illustrators  of  its 
dignity  abroad.  '  Surrey,'  says  Camden,  '  was  the  first  nobleman 


136  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

that  illustrated  his  high  hirth  with  the  beauty  of  learning.  He 
was  acknowledged  to  be  the  gallantest  man,  the  politest  lover, 
and  the  completest  gentleman  of  his  time.'  And  as  to  Wyat,  his 
friend  Surrey  most  amiably  testifies  of  him,  that  his  person  was 
majestic  and  beautiful,  his  visage  '  stern  and  mild ; '  that  he 
sung,  and  played  the  lute  with  remarkable  sweetness ;  spoke  for 
eign  languages  with  grace  and  fluency,  and  possessed  an  inex 
haustible  fund  of  wit.  And  see  what  a  high  commendation  is 
passed  upon  these  illustrious  friends :  '  They  were  the  two  chief 
tains,  who,  having  travelled  into  Italy,  and  there  tasted  the  sweet 
and  stately  measures  and  style  of  the  Italian  poetry,  greatly  pol 
ished  our  rude  and  homely  manner  of  vulgar  poetry  from  what  it 
had  been  before,  and  therefore  may  be  justly  called  the  reformers 
of  our  English  poetry  and  style.'  And  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  who 
has  left  us  such  monuments  of  elegant  thought  and  generous  sen 
timent,  and  who  illustrated  his  chivalrous  spirit  so  gloriously  in 
the  field.  And  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh,  the  elegant  courtier,  the  in 
trepid  soldier,  the  enterprising  discoverer,  the  enlightened  phi 
losopher,  the  magnanimous  martyr.  These  are  the  men  for  Eng 
lish  gentlemen  to  study.  Chesterfield,  with  his  cold  and  courtly 
maxims,  would  have  chilled  and  impoverished  such  spirits.  He 
would  have  blighted  all  the  budding  romance  of  their  tempera 
ments.  Sydney  would  never  have  written  his  Arcadia,  nor  Sur 
rey  have  challenged  the  world  in  vindication  of  the  beauties  of  his 
Geraldine.  These  are  the  men,  my  sons,"  the  Squire  will  con 
tinue,  "  that  show  to  what  our  national  character  may  be  exalted, 
when  its  strong  and  powerful  qualities  are  duly  wrought  up  and 
refined.  The  solidest  bodies  are  capable  of  the  highest  polish  ;  and 
there  is  no  character  that  may  be  wrought  to  a  more  exquisite  and 
tunsullied  brightness,  than  that  of  the  true  English  gentleman." 


GENTILITY.  137 

When  Guy  was  about  to  depart  for  the  army,  the  Squire  again 
took  him  aside,  and  gave  him  a  long  exhortation.  He  warned 
him  against  that  affectation  of  cold-blooded  indifference,  which  he 
was  told  was  cultivated  by  the  young  British  officers,  among 
whom  it  was  a  study  to  "  sink  the  soldier "  in  the  mere  man  of 
fashion.  "  A  soldier,"  said  he,  "  without  pride  and  enthusiasm 
in  his  profession,  is  a  mere  sanguinary  hireling.  Nothing  distin 
guishes  him  from  the  mercenary  bravo  but  a  spirit  of  patriotism, 
or  thirst  for  glory.  It  is  the  fashion,  nowadays,  my  son,"  said 
he,  "  to  laugh  at  the  spirit  of  chivalry ;  when  that  spirit  is  really 
extinct,  the  profession  of  the  soldier  becomes  a  mere  trade  of 
blood."  He  then  set  before  him  the  conduct  of  Edward  the 
Black  Prince,  who  is  his  mirror  of  chivalry ;  valiant,  generous, 
affable,  humane ;  gallant  in  the  field ;  but  when  he  came  to  dwell 
on  his  courtesy  toward  his  prisoner,  the  king  of  France ;  how  he 
received  him  in  his  tent,  rather  as  a  conqueror  than  as  a  captive ; 
attended  on  him  at  table  like  one  of  his  retinue ;  rode  uncovered 
beside  him  on  his  entry  into  London,  mounted  on  a  common  pal 
frey,  while  his  prisoner  was  mounted  in  state  on  a  white  steed  of 
stately  beauty ;  the  tears  of  enthusiasm  stood  in  the  old  gentle 
man's  eyes. 

Finally,  on  taking  leave,  the  good  Squire  put  in  his  son's 
hands,  as  a  manual,  one  of  his  favorite  old  volumes,  the  Life  of 
the  Chevalier  Bayard,  by  Godefroy ;  on  a  blank  page  of  which  he 
had  written  an  extract  from  the  Morte  d' Arthur,  containing  the 
eulogy  of  Sir  Ector  over  the  body  of  Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake, 
which  the  Squire  considers  as  comprising  the  excellencies  of  a 
true  soldier.  "  Ah,  Sir  Launcelot !  thou  wert  head  of  all  Chris 
tian  knights  ;  now  there  thou  liest :  thou  were  never  matched  of 
none  earthly  knights-hands.  And  thou  wert  the  dirtiest  knight 


138 


BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 


that  ever  bare  shield.  And  thou  were  the  truest  friend  to  thy 
lover  that  ever  bestrood  horse ;  and  thou  were  the  truest  lover  of 
a  sinfull  man  that  ever  loved  woman.  And  thou  were  the  kind 
est  man  that  ever  strook  with  sword ;  and  thou  were  the  goodli 
est  person  that  ever  came  among  the  presse  of  knights.  And 
thou  were  the  meekest  man  and  the  gentlest  that  ever  eate  in 
hall  among  ladies.  And  thou  were  the  sternest  knight  to  thy 
mortal  foe  that  ever  put  speare  in  rest." 


u, 


NEW  YORK.O  f  PUTNAM 


FORTUNE-TELLING. 

Each  city,  each  town,  and  every  village, 

Affords  us  either  an  alms  or  pillage. 

And  if  the  weather  be  cold  and  raw, 

Then  in  a  barn  we  tumble  on  straw. 

If  warm  and  fair,  by  yea-cock  and  nay-cock, 

The  fields  will  afford  us  a  hedge  or  a  hay-cock. 

MEEKY  BEGGARS. 

As  I  was  walking  one  evening  with  the  Oxonian,  Master  Simon, 
and  the  general,  in  a  meadow  not  far  from  the  village,  we  heard 
the  sound  of  a  fiddle,  rudely  played,  and  looking  in  the  direction 
whence  it  came,  we  saw  a  thread  of  smoke  curling  up  from 
among  the  trees.  The  sound  of  music  is  always  attractive ;  for, 
wherever  there  is  music,  there  is  good  humor,  or  good-will.  We 
passed  along  a  footpath,  and  had  a  peep,  through  a  break  in  the 
hedge,  at  the  musician  and  his  party,  when  the  Oxonian  gave  us 
a  wink,  and  told  us  that  if  we  would  follow  him,  we  should  have 
some  sport. 

It  proved  to  be  a  gipsy  encampment,  consisting  of  three  or 
four  little  cabins,  or  tents,  made  of  blankets  and  sail  cloth, 
spread  over  hoops  stuck  in  the  ground.  It  was  on  one  side  of  a 
green  lane,  close  under  a  hawthorn  hedge,  with  a  broad  beech- 
tree  spreading  above  it.  A  small  rill  tinkled  along  close  by, 
through  the  fresh  sward,  that  looked  like  a  carpet. 


140  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

A  tea-kettle  was  hanging  by  a  crooked  piece  of  iron,  over  a 
fire  made  from  dry  sticks  and  leaves,  and  two  old  gipsies,  in  red 
cloaks,  sat  crouched  on  the  grass,  gossiping  over  their  evening  cup 
of  tea ;  for  these  creatures,  though  they  live  in  the  open  air,  have 
their  ideas  of  fireside  comforts.  There  were  two  or  three  children 
sleeping  on  the  straw  with  which  the  tents  were  littered ;  a  couple 
of  donkeys  were  grazing  in  the  lane,  and  a  thievish-looking  dog 
was  lying  before  the  fire.  Some  of  the  younger  gipsies  were  danc 
ing  to  the  music  of  a  fiddle,  played  by  a  tall,  slender  stripling,  in 
an  old  frock  coat,  with  a  peacock's  feather  stuck  in  his  hatband. 

As  we  approached,  a  gipsy  girl,  with  a  pair  of  fine  roguish 
eyes,  came  up,  and,  as  usual,  offered  to  tell  our  fortunes.  I  could 
not  but  admire  a  certain  degree  of  slattern  elegance  about  the 
baggage.  Her  long  black  silken  hair  was  curiously  plaited  in 
numerous  small  braids,  and  negligently  put  up  in  a  picturesque 
style  that  a  painter  might  have  been  proud  to  have  devised.  Her 
dress  was  of  figured  chintz,  rather  ragged,  and  not  over  clean, 
but  of  a  variety  of  most  harmonious  and  agreeable  colors ;  for 
these  beings  have  a  singularly  fine  eye  for  colors.  Her  straw  hat 
was  in  her  hand,  and  a  red  cloak  thrown  over  one  arm. 

The  Oxonian  offered  at  once  to  have  his  fortune  told,  and  the 
girl  began  with  the  usual  volubility  of  her  race ;  but  he  drew  her 
on  one  side,  near  the  hedge,  as  he  said  he  had  no  idea  of  having 
his  secrets  overheard.  I  saw  he  was  talking  to  her  instead  of  she 
to  him,  and  by  his  glancing  towards  us  now  and  then,  that  he 
was  giving  the  baggage  some  private  hints.  When  they  returned 
to  us,  he  assumed  a  very  serious  air.  "  Zounds !  "  said  he,  "  it's 
very  astonishing  how  these  creatures  come  by  their  knowledge ; 
this  girl  has  told  me  some  things  that  I  thought  no  one  knew  but 
myself!" 


FORTUNE-TELLING.  141 

The  girl  now  assailed  the  general :  "  Come,  your  honor,"  said 
she,  "  I  see  by  your  face  you're  a  lucky  man ;  but  you're  not 
happy  in  your  mind ;  you're  not,  indeed,  sir :  but  have  a  good 
heart,  and  give  me  a  good  piece  of  silver,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  nice 
fortune." 

The  general  had  received  all  her  approaches  with  a  banter, 
and  had  suffered  her  to  get  hold  of  his  hand ;  but  at  the  mention 
of  the  piece  of  silver,  he  hemmed,  looked  grave,  and  turning  to 
us,  asked  if  we  had  not  better  continue  our  walk.  "  Come,  my 
master,  "  said  the  girl,  archly,  "  you'd  not  be  in  such  a  hurry,  if 
you  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  you  about  a  fair  lady  that  has  a 
notion  for  you.  Come,  sir,  old  love  burns  strong ;  there's  many 
a  one  comes  to  see  weddings  that  go  away  brides  themselves !  " — 
Here  the  girl  whispered  something  in  a  low  voice,  at  which  the 
general  colored  up,  was  a  little  fluttered,  and  suffered  himself  to 
be  drawn  aside  under  the  hedge,  where  he  appeared  to  listen  to 
her  with  great  earnestness,  and  at  the  end  paid  her  half-a-crown 
with  the  air  of  a  man  that  has  got  the  worth  of  his  money. 

The  girl  next  made  her  attack  upon  Master  Simon,  who,  how 
ever,  was  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught,  knowing  that  it  would  end 
in  an  attack  upon  his  purse,  about  which  he  is  a  little  sensitive. 
As  he  has  a  great  notion,  however,  of  being  considered  a  royster, 
he  chucked  her  under  the  chin,  played  her  off  with  rather  broad 
jokes,  and  put  on  something  of  the  rake-helly  air,  that  we  see 
now  and  then  assumed  on  the  stage,  by  the  sad-boy  gentlemen  of 
the  old  school.  "Ah,  your  honor,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  malicious 
leer,  "  you  were  not  in  such  a  tantrum  last  year,  when  I  told  you 
about  the  widow  you  know  who ;  but  if  you  had  taken  a  friend's 
advice,  you'd  never  have  come  away  from  Doncaster  races  with  a 
flea  in  your  ear !  " 


142  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

There  was  a  secret  sting  in  this  speech  that  seemed  quite  to 
disconcert  Master  Simon.  He  jerked  away  his  hand  in  a  pet, 
smacked  his  whip,  whistled  to  bis  dogs,  and  intimated  that  it  Avas 
high  time  to  go  home.  The  girl,  however,  was  determined  not  to 
lose  her  harvest.  She  now  turned  upon  me,  and,  as  I  have  a 
weakness  of  spirit  where  there  is  a  pretty  face  concerned,  she 
soon  wheedled  me  out  of  my  money,  and,  in  return,  read  me  a  for 
tune  ;  which,  if  it  prove  true,  and  I  am  determined  to  believe  it, 
will  make  me  one  of  the  luckiest  men  in  the  chronicles  of  Cupid. 

I  saw  that  the  Oxonian  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  oracular 
mystery,  and  was  disposed  to  amuse  himself  with  the  general, 
whose  tender  approaches  to  the  widow  have  attracted  the  notice 
of  the  wag.  I  was  a  little  curious,  however,  to  know  the  mean 
ing  of  the  dark  hints  which  had  so  suddenly  disconcerted  Master 
Simon ;  and  took  occasion  to  fall  in  the  rear  with  the  Oxonian  on 
our  way  home,  when  he  laughed  heartily  at  my  questions,  and 
gave  me  ample  information  on  the  subject. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  Master  Simon  has  met  with 
a  sad  rebuff  since  my  Christmas  visit  to  the  Hall.  He  used  at 
that  time  to  be  joked  about  a  widow,  a  fine  dashing  woman,  as 
he  privately  informed  me.  I  had  supposed  the  pleasure  he  be 
trayed  on  these  occasions  resulted  from  the  usual  fondness  of  old 
bachelors  for  being  teased  about  getting  married,  and  about  flirt 
ing,  and  being  fickle  and  false-hearted.  I  am  assured,  however, 
that  Master  Simon  had  really  persuaded  himself  the  widow  had 
a  kindness  for  him ;  in  consequence  of  which  he  had  been  at 
some  extraordinary  expense  in  new  clothes,  and  had  actually  got 
Frank  Bracebridge  to  order  him  a  coat  from  Stultz.  He  began 
to  throw  out  hints  about  the  importance  of  a  man's  settling  him 
self  in  life  before  he  grew  old ;  he  would  look  grave  whenever 


FORTUNE-TELLING.  143 

the  widow  and  matrimony  were  mentioned  in  the  same  sentence ; 
and  privately  asked  the  opinion  of  the  Squire  and  parson  about 
the  prudence  of  marrying  a  widow  with  a  rich  jointure,  but  who 
had  several  children. 

An  important  member  of  a  great  family  connection  cannot 
harp  much  upon  the  theme  of  matrimony  without  its  taking  wind  ; 
and  it  soon  got  buzzed  about  that  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge  was 
actually  gone  to  Doncaster  races,  with  a  new  horse ;  but  that  he 
meant  to  return  in  a  curricle  with  a  lady  by  his  side.  Master 
Simon  did,  indeed,  go  to  the  races,  and  that  with  a  new  horse ; 
and  the  dashing  widow  did  make  her  appearance  in  her  curricle ; 
but  it  was  unfortunately  driven  by  a  strapping  young  Irish  dra 
goon,  with  whom  even  Master  Simon's  self-complacency  would  not 
allow  him  to  venture  into  competition,  and  to  whom  she  was  mar 
ried  shortly  afterwards. 

It  was  a  matter  of  sore  chagrin  to  Master  Simon  for  several 
months,  having  never  before  been  fully  committed.  The  dullest 
head  in  the  family  had  a  joke  upon  him  ;  and  there  is  no  one  that 
likes  less  to  be  bantered  than  an  absolute  joker.  He  took  refuge 
for  a  time  at  Lady  Lillycraft's  until  the  matter  should  blow  over ; 
and  occupied  himself  by  looking  over  her  accounts,  regulating 
the  village  choir,  and  inculcating  loyalty  into  a  pet  bullfinch,  by 
teaching  him  to  whistle  "  God  save  the  King." 

He  has  now  pretty  nearly  recovered  from  the  mortification  ; 
holds  up  his  head,  and  laughs  as  much  as  any  one ;  again  affects 
to  pity  married  men,  and  is  particularly  facetious  about  widows, 
when  Lady  Lillycraft  is  not  by.  His  only  time  of  trial  is  when 
the  general  gets  hold  of  him,  who  is  infinitely  heavy  and  perse 
vering  in  his  waggery,  and  will  interweave  a  dull  joke  through 
the  various  topics  of  a  whole  dinner-time.  Master  Simon  often 


144 


BEACEBBLDGE  HALL. 


parries  these  attacks  by  a  stanza  from  his  old  work  of  "  Cupid's 
Solicitor  for  Love : " 

"  'Tis  in  vain  to  wooe  a  widow  over  long 

In  once  or  twice  her  mind  you  may  perceive  ; 
"Widows  are  subtle,  be  tbey  old  or  young, 
And  by  their  wiles  young  men  they  will  deceive." 


LOVE  CHARMS. 


•  Come,  do  not  weep,  my  girl, 


Forget  him,  pretty  pensiveness;  there  will 
Come  others,  every  day,  as  good  as  he. 

SIB  J.  SUCKLING. 


THE  approach  of  a  wedding  in  a  family  is  always  an  event  of 
great  importance,  but  particularly  so  in  a  household  like  this,  in 
a  retired  part  of  the  country.  Master  Simon,  who  is  a  pervading 
spirit,  and,  through  means  of  the  butler  and  housekeeper,  knows 
every  thing  that  goes  forward,  tells  me  that  the  maid-servants  are 
continually  trying  their  fortunes,  and  that  the  servants' -hall  has 
of  late  been  quite  a  scene  of  incantation. 

It  is  amusing  to  notice  how  the  oddities  of  the  head  of  a  fam 
ily  flow  down  through  all  the  branches.  The  Squire,  in  the  in 
dulgence  of  his  love  of  every  thing  which  smacks  of  old  times, 
has  held  so  many  grave  conversations  with  the  parson  at  table, 
about  popular  superstitions  and  traditional  rites,  that  they  have 
been  carried  from  the  parlor  to  the  kitchen  by  the  listening  do 
mestics,  and,  being  apparently  sanctioned  by  such  high  authority, 
the  whole  house  has  become  infected  by  them. 

The  servants  are  all  versed  in  the  common  modes  of  trying 

luck,  and  the  charms  to  insure  constancy.     They  read  their  for- 

7 


146  BEACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

tunes  by  drawing  strokes  in  the  ashes,  or  by  repeating  a  form  of 
words,  and  looking  in  a  pail  of  water.  St.  Mark's  Eve,  I  am 
told,  was  a  busy  time  with  them ;  being  an  appointed  night  for 
certain  mystic  ceremonies.  Several  of  them  sowed  hemp-seed 
to  be  reaped  by  their  true  lovers ;  and  they  even  ventured  upon 
the  solemn  and  fearful  preparation  of  the  dumb-cake.  This  must 
be  done  fasting,  and  in  silence.  The  ingredients  are  handed 
down  in  traditional  form.  "  An  eggshell  full  of  salt,  an  egg 
shell  full  of  malt,  and  an  eggshell  full  of  barley-meal."  When 
the  cake  is  ready,  it  is  put  upon  a  pan  over  the  fire,  and  the  future 
husband  will  appear ;  turn  the  cake,  and  retire  ;  but  if  a  word  is 
spoken,  or  a  fast  is  broken,  during  this  awful  ceremony,  there  is 
no  knowing  what  horrible  consequences  would  ensue ! 

The  experiments,  in  the  present  instance,  came  to  no  result ; 
they  that  sowed  the  hemp-seed  forgot  the  magic  rhyme  that  they 
were  to  pronounce,  so  the  true  lover  never  appeared  ;  and  as  to 
the  dumb-cake,  what  between  the  awful  stillness  they  had  to 
keep,  and  the  awfulness  of  the  midnight  hour,  their  hearts  failed 
them  when  they  had  put  the  cake  in  the  pan ;  so  that,  on  the 
striking  of  the  great  house-clock  in  the  servants' -hall,  they  were 
seized  with  a  sudden  panic,  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  to  which 
they  did  not  return  until  morning,  when  they  found  the  mystic 
cake  burnt  to  a  cinder. 

The  most  persevering  at  these  spells,  however,  is  Phoebe  Wil- 
kins,  the  housekeeper's  niece.  As  she  is  a  kind  of  privileged 
personage,  and  rather  idle,  she  has  more  time  to  occupy  herself 
with  these  matters.  She  has  always  had  her  head  full  of  love 
and  matrimony.  She  knows  the  dream-book  by  heart,  and  is 
quite  an  oracle  among  the  little  girls  of  the  family,  who  always 
come  to  her  to  interpret  their  dreams  in  the  mornings. 


LOVE-CHARMS.  147 

During  the  present  gayety  of  the  house,  however,  the  poor 
girl  has  worn  a  face  full  of  trouble ;  and,  to  use  the  housekeeper's 
words,  "  has  fallen  into  a  sad  hystericky  way  lately."  It  seems 
that  she  was  born  and  brought  up  in  the  village,  where  her  father 
was  parish  clerk,  and  she  was  an  early  playmate  and  sweetheart 
of  young  Jack  Tibbets.  Since  she  has  come  to  live  at  the  Hall, 
however,  her  head  has  been  a  little  turned.  Being  very  pretty, 
and  naturally  genteel,  she  has  been  much  noticed  and  indulged  ; 
and  being  the  housekeeper's  neice,  she  has  held  an  equivocal  sta 
tion  between  a  servant  and  a  companion.  She  has  learnt  some 
thing  of  fashions  and  notions  among  the  young  ladies,  which  have 
effected  quite  a  metamorphosis ;  insomuch  that  her  finery  at 
church  on  Sundays  has  given  mortal  offence  to  her  former  inti 
mates  in  the  village.  This  has  occasioned  the  misrepresentations 
which  have  awakened  the  implacable  family  pride  of  Dame  Tib- 
bets.  But  what  is  worse,  Phoebe,  having  a  spice  of  coquetry  in 
her  disposition,  showed  it  on  one  or  two  occasions  to  her  lover, 
which  produced  a  downright  quarrel ;  and  Jack,  being  very  proud 
and  fiery,  has  absolutely  turned  his  back  upon  her  for  several 
successive  Sundays. 

The  poor  girl  is  full  of  sorrow  and  repentance,  and  would 
fain  make  up  with  her  lover ;  but  he  feels  his  security,  and  stands 
aloof.  In  this  he  is  doubtless  encouraged  by  his  mother,  who  is 
continually  reminding  him  what  he  owes  to  his  family;  for 
this  same  family  pride  seems  doomed  to  be  the  eternal  bane  of 
lovers. 

As  I  hate  to  see  a  pretty  face  in  trouble,  I  have  felt  quite  con 
cerned  for  the  luckless  Phoebe,  ever  since  I  heard  her  story.  It 
is  a  sad  thing  to  be  thwarted  in  love  at  any  time,  but  particularly 
so  at  this  tender  season  of  the  year,  when  every  living  thing, 


148  BRACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

even  to  the  very  butterfly,  is  sporting  with  its  mate ;  and  the 
green  fields,  and  the  budding  groves,  and  the  singing  of  the  birds, 
and  the  sweet  smell  of  the  flowers,  are  enough  to  turn  the  head  of 
a  love-sick  girl.  I  am  told  that  the  coolness  of  young  Keady- 
Money  lies  very  heavy  at  poor  Phoebe's  heart.  Instead  of  sing 
ing  about  the  house  as  formerly,  she  goes  about  pale  and  sighing, 
and  is  apt  to  break  into  tears  when  her  companions  are  full  of 
merriment. 

Mrs.  Hannah,  the  vestal  gentlewoman  of  my  Lady  Lillycraft, 
has  had  long  talks  and  walks  with  Phoebe,  up  and  down  the  ave 
nue,  of  an  evening ;  and  has  endeavored  to  squeeze  some  of  her 
own  verjuice  into  the  other's  milky  nature.  She  speaks  with  con 
tempt  and  abhorrence  of  the  whole  sex,  and  advises  Phoebe  to 
despise  all  the  men  as  heartily  as  she  does.  But  Phoebe's  loving 
temper  is  not  to  be  curdled ;  she  has  no  such  thing  as  hatred  or 
contempt  for  mankind  in  her  whole  composition.  She  has  all  the 
simple  fondness  of  heart  of  poor,  weak,  loving  woman ;  and  her 
only  thoughts  at  present  are,  how  to  conciliate  and  reclaim  her 
wayward  swain. 

The  spells  and  love-charms,  which  are  matters  of  sport  to  the 
other  domestics,  are  serious  concerns  with  this  love-stricken  dam 
sel.  She  is  continually  trying  her  fortune  in  a  variety  of  ways. 
I  am  told  that  she  has  absolutely  fasted  for  six  Wednesdays  and 
three  Fridays  successively,  having  understood  that  it  was  a  sove 
reign  charm  to  insure  being  married  to  one's  liking  within  the 
year.  She  carries  about,  also,  a  lock  of  her  sweetheart's  hair, 
and  a  riband  he  once  gave  her,  being  a  mode  of  producing  con 
stancy  in  a  lover.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to  try  her  fortune  by 
the  moon,  which  has  always  had  much  to  do  with  lovers'  dreams 
and  fancies.  For  this  purpose  she  went  out  in  the  night  of  the 


LOVE-CHARMS.  149 

full  moon,  knelt  on  a  stone  in  the  meadow,  and  repeated  the  old 
traditional  rhyme : 

"  All  hail  to  tliee,  moon,  all  hail  to  thec ; 
I  pray  thee,  good  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  youth  who  my  future  husband  shall  be." 

When  she  came  back  to  the  house,  she  was  faint  and  pale,  and 
went  immediately  to  bed.  The  next  morning  she  told  the  por 
ter's  wife  that  she  had  seen  some  one  close  by  the  hedge  in  the 
meadow,  which  she  was  sure  was  young  Tibbets ;  at  any  rate,  she 
had  dreamt  of  him  all  night ;  both  of  which,  the  old  dame  assured 
her,  were  most  happy  signs.  It  has  since  turned  out  that  the 
person  in  the  meadow  was  old  Christy,  the  huntsman,  who  was 
walking  his  nightly  rounds  with  the  great  stag-hound ;  so  that 
Phoebe's  faith  in  the  charm  is  completely  shaken. 


THE  LIBRARY. 

YESTERDAY  the  fair  Julia  made  her  first  appearance  down  stairs 
since  her  accident ;  and  the  sight  of  her  spread  an  universal 
cheerfulness  through  the  household.  She  was  extremely  pale, 
however,  and  could  not  walk  without  pain  and  difficulty.  She 
was  assisted,  therefore,  to  a  sofa  in  the  library,  which  is  pleasant 
and  retired,  looking  out  among  trees  ;  and  so  quiet,  that  the  little 
birds  come  hopping  upon  the  windows,  and  peering  curiously  into 
the  apartment.  Here  several  of  the  family  gathered  round,  and 
devised  means  to  amuse  her,  and  make  the  day  pass  pleasantly. 
Lady  Lillycraft  lamented  the  want  of  some  new  novel  to  while 
away  the  time ;  and  was  almost  in  a  pet,  because  the  "  Author  of 
"Waverley  "  had  not  produced  a  work  for  the  last  three  months. 

There  was  a  motion  made  to  call  on  the  parson  for  some  of 
his  old  legends  or  ghost  stories ;  but  to  this  Lady  Lillycraft  ob 
jected,  as  they  were  apt  to  give  her  the  vapors.  General  Har- 
bottle  gave  a  minute  account,  for  the  sixth  time,  of  the  disaster 
of  a  friend  in  India,  who  had  his  leg  bitten  off  by  a  tiger,  whilst 
he  was  hunting ;  and  was  proceeding  to  menace  the  company 
with  a  chapter  or  two  about  Tippoo  Saib. 

At  length  the  captain  bethought  himself,  and  said,  he  believed 
he  had  a  manuscript  tale  lying  in  one  corner  of  his  campaigning 
trunk,  which,  if  he  could  find,  and  the  company  were  desirous,  he 


THE  LIBEAEY.  151 

would  read  to  them.  The  offer  was  eagerly  accepted.  He  re 
tired,  and  soon  returned  with  a  roll  of  blotted  manuscript,  in  a 
very  gentlemanlike,  but  nearly  illegible  hand,  and  a  great  part 
written  on  cartridge  paper. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  scribblings,"  said  he,  "  of  my  poor  friend, 
Charles  Lightly,  of  the  dragoons.  He  was  a  curious,  romantic, 
studious,  fanciful  fellow ;  the  favorite,  and  often  the  unconscious 
butt  of  his  fellow-officers,  who  entertained  themselves  with  his 
eccentricities.  He  was  in  some  of  the  hardest  service  in  the 
peninsula,  and  distinguished  himself  by  his  gallantry.  When 
the  intervals  of  duty  permitted,  he  was  fond  of  roving  about  the 
country,  visiting  noted  places,  and  was  extremely  fond  of  Moor 
ish  ruins.  When  at  his  quarters,  he  was  a  great  scribbler,  and 
passed  much  of  his  leisure  with  his  pen  in  his  hand. 

"  As  I  was  a  much  younger  officer,  and  a  very  young  man,  he 
took  me,  in  a  manner,  under  his  care,  and  we  became  close 
friends.  He  used  often  to  read  his  writings  to  me,  having  a  great 
confidence  in  my  taste,  for  I  always  praised  them.  Poor  fellow ! 
he  was  shot  down  close  by  me  at  Waterloo.  We  lay  wounded  to 
gether  for  some  time  during  a  hard  contest  that  took  place  near  at 
hand.  As  I  was  least  hurt,  I  tried  to  relieve  him,  and  to  stanch 
the  blood  which  flowed  from  a  wound  in  his  breast.  He  lay  with 
his  head  in  my  lap,  and  looked  up  thankfully  in  my  face,  but 
shook  his  head  faintly,  and  made  a  sign  that  it  was  all  over  with 
him ;  and,  indeed,  he  died  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  just  as  our 
men  had  repulsed  the  enemy,  and  came  to  our  relief.  I  have  his 
favorite  dog  and  his  pistols  to  this  day,  and  several  of  his  manu 
scripts,  which  he  gave  to  me  at  different  times.  The  one  I  am 
now  going  to  read  is  a  tale  which  he  said  he  wrote  in  Spain,  dur 
ing  the  time  that  he  lay  ill  of  a  wound  received  at  Salamanca." 


152  BEACEBRIDGE   HAIX. 

We  now  arranged  ourselves  to  hear  the  story.  The  captain 
seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  beside  the  fair  Julia,  who  I  had  no 
ticed  to  be  somewhat  affected  by  the  picture  he  had  carelessly 
drawn  of  wounds  and  dangers  in  a  field  of  battle.  She  now 
leaned  her  arm  fondly  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  eye  glistened  as 
it  rested  on  the  manuscript  of  the  poor  literary  dragoon.  Lady 
Lillycraft  buried  herself  in  a  deep,  well-cushioned  elbow-chair. 
Her  dogs  were  nestled  on  soft  mats  at  her  feet ;  and  the  gallant 
general  took  his  station  in  an  arm-chair  at  her  side,  and  toyed 
with  her  elegantly  ornamented  work-bag.  The  rest  of  the  circle 
being  all  equally  well  accommodated,  the  captain  began  his  story ; 
a  copy  of  which  I  have  procured  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 

What  a  life  doe  I  lead  with  my  master ;  nothing  but  blowing  of  bellowes,  beating 
of  spirits,  and  scraping  of  croslets!  It  is  a  very  secret  science,  for  none  almost  can 
understand  the  language  of  it.  Sublimation,  almigation,  calcination,  rubification,  albi- 
fication,  and  fermentation ;  with  as  many  termes  impossible  to  be  uttered  as  the  arte 
to  be  compassed.  LILLY'S  GALLATHEA. 

ONCE  upon  a  time,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Grenada,  there  so 
journed  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Antonio  de  Castros.  He 
wore  the  garb  of  a  student  of  Salamanca,  and  was  pursuing  a 
course  of  reading  in  the  library  of  the  university ;  and,  at  inter 
vals  of  leisure,  indulging  his  curiosity  by  examining  those  re 
mains  of  Moorish  magnificence  for  which  Grenada  is  renowned. 

Whilst  occupied  in  his  studies,  he  frequently  noticed  an  old 
man  of  singular  appearance,  who  was  likewise  a  visitor  to  the 
library.  He  was  lean  and  withered,  though  apparently  more  from 
study  than  from  age.  His  eyes,  though  bright  and  visionary, 
were  sunk  in  his  head,  and  thrown  into  shade  by  overhanging 
eyebrows.  His  dress  was  always  the  same :  a  black  doublet,  a 
short  black  coat,  very  rusty  and  threadbare,  a  small  ruff,  and  a 
large  overshadowing  hat. 

His  appetite  for  knowledge  seemed  insatiable.  He  would 
pass  whole  days  in  the  library,  absorbed  in  study,  consulting  a 
multiplicity  of  authors,  as  though  he  were  pursuing  some  inter- 
7* 


154  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

esting  subject  through  all  its  ramifications ;  so  that,  when  even 
ing  came,  he  was  almost  buried  among  books  and  manuscripts. 

The  curiosity  of  Antonio  was  excited,  and  he  inquired  of  the 
attendants  concerning  the  stranger.  No  one  could  give  him  any 
information,  excepting  that  he  had  been  for  some  time  past  a 
casual  frequenter  of  the  library;  that  his  reading  lay  chiefly 
among  works  treating  of  the  occult  sciences,  and  that  he  was 
particularly  curious  in  his  inquiries  after  Arabian  manuscripts. 
They  added,  that  he  never  held  communication  with  any  one,  ex 
cepting  to  ask  for  particular  works ;  that,  after  a  fit  of  studious 
application,  he  would  disappear  for  several  days,  and  even  weeks, 
and  when  he  revisited  the  library,  he  would  look  more  withered 
and  haggard  than  ever.  The  student  felt  interested  by  this  ac 
count  ;  he  was  leading  rather  a  desultory  life,  and  had  all  that 
capricious  curiosity  which  springs  up  in  idleness.  He  determined 
to  make  himself  acquainted  with  this  bookworm,  and  find  out 
who  and  what  he  was. 

The  next  time  that  he  saw  the  old  man  at  the  library,  he 
commenced  his  approaches,  by  requesting  permission  to  look  into 
one  of  the  volumes  with  which  the  unknown  appeared  to  have 
done.  The  latter  merely  bowed  his  head  in  token  of  assent. 
After  pretending  to  look  through  the  volume  with  great  attention, 
he  returned  it  with  many  acknowledgments.  The  stranger  made 
no  reply. 

"May  I  ask,  sefior,"  said  Antonio,  with  some  hesitation, 
"  may  I  ask  what  you  are  searching  after  in  all  these  books  1 " 

The  old  man  raised  his  head,  with  an  expression  of  surprise, 
at  having  his  studies  interrupted  for  the  first  time,  and  by  so  in 
trusive  a  question.  He  surveyed  the  student  with  a  side-glance 
from  head  to  foot :  "  Wisdom,  my  son,"  said  he,  calmly :  "  and 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  155 

the  search  requires  every  moment  of  my  attention."  He  then 
cast  his  eyes  upon  his  book  and  resumed  his  studies. 

"  But,  father,"  said  Antonio,  "  cannot  you  spare  a  moment  to 
point  out  the  road  to  others  ?  It  is  to  experienced  travellers,  like 
you,  that  we  strangers  in  the  path  of  knowledge  must  look  for 
directions  on  our  journey." 

The  stranger  looked  disturbed :  "  I  have  not  time  enough,  my 
son,  to  learn,"  said  he,  "  much  less  to  teach.  I  am  ignorant  my 
self  of  the  path  of  true  knowledge ;  how  then  can  I  show  it  to 
others  ?  " 

Well,  but  father— 

"  Senor,"  said  the  old  man,  mildly,  but  earnestly,  "  you  must 
see  that  I  have  but  a  few  more  steps  to  the  grave.  In  that  short 
space  have  I  to  accomplish  the  Avhole  business  of  my  existence. 
I  have  no  time  for  words  ;  every  word  is  as  one  grain  of  sand  of 
my  glass  wasted.  Suffer  me  to  be  alone." 

There  was  no  replying  to  so  complete  a  closing  of  the  door  of 
intimacy.  The  student  found  himself  calmly  but  totally  repulsed. 
Though  curious  and  inquisitive,  he  was  naturally  modest,  and  on 
after-thoughts  blushed  at  his  own  intrusion.  His  mind  soon  be 
came  occupied  by  other  objects.  He  passed  several  days  wander 
ing  among  the  mouldering  piles  of  Moorish  architecture,  those 
melancholy  monuments  of  an  elegant  and  voluptuous  people.  He 
paced  the  deserted  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  the  paradise  of  the 
Moorish  kings.  He  visited  the  great  court  of  the  lions,  famous 
for  the  perfidious  massacre  of  the  gallant  Abencerrages.  He 
gazed  with  admiration  at  its  Mosaic  cupolas,  gorgeously  painted 
in  gold  and  azure ;  its  basins  of  marble,  its  alabaster  vase,  sup 
ported  by  lions,  and  storied  with  inscriptions. 

His  imagination  kindled  as  he  wandered  among  these  scenes. 


156  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

They  were  calculated  to  awaken  all  the  enthusiasm  of  a  youthful 
mind.  Most  of  the  halls  have  anciently  been  beautified  by  foun 
tains.  The  fine  taste  of  the  Arabs  delighted  in  the  sparkling 
purity  and  reviving  freshness  of  water,  and  they  erected,  as  it 
were,  'altars  on  every  side,  to  that  delicate  element.  Poetry 
mingles  with  architecture  in  the  Alhambra.  It  breathes  along 
the  very  walls.  Wherever  Antonio  turned  his  eye,  he  beheld 
inscriptions  in  Arabic,  wherein  the  perpetuity  of  Moorish  power 
and  splendor  within  these  walls  was  confidently  predicted.  Alas ! 
how  has  the  prophecy  been  falsified !  Many  of  the  basins,  where 
the  fountains  had  once  thrown  up  their  sparkling  showers,  were 
dry  and  dusty.  Some  of  the  palaces  were  turned  into  gloomy 
convents,  and  the  barefoot  monk  paced  through  those  courts, 
which  had  once  glittered  with  the  array,  and  echoed  to  the  music 
of  Moorish  chivalry. 

In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  the  student  more  than  once  en 
countered  the  old  man  of  the  library.  He  was  always  alone,  and 
so  full  of  thought  as  not  to  notice  any  one  about  him.  He  ap 
peared  to  be  intent  upon  studying  those  half-buried  inscriptions, 
which  are  found,  here  and  there,  among  the  Moorish  ruins,  and 
seem  to  murmur  from  the  earth  the  tale  of  former  greatness. 
The  greater  part  of  these  have  since  been  translated ;  but  they 
were  supposed  by  many,  at  the  time,  to  contain  symbolical  reve 
lations,  and  golden  maxims  of  the  Arabian  sages  and  astrologers. 
As  Antonio  saw  the  stranger  apparently  deciphering  these  in 
scriptions,  he  felt  an  eager  longing  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and 
to  participate  in  his  curious  researches ;  but  the  repulse  he  had 
met  with  at  the  library  deterred  him  from  making  any  further 
advances. 

He  had  directed  his  steps  one  evening  to  the  sacred  monnt, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  157 

which  overlooks  the  beautiful  valley  watered  by  the  Darro,  the 
fertile  plains  of  the  Vega,  and  all  that  rich  diversity  of  vale  and 
mountain,  which  surrounds  Grenada  with  an  earthly  paradise.  It 
was  twilight  when  he  found  himself  at  the  place,  where,  at  the 
present  day,  are  situated  the  chapels,  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Sacred  Furnaces.  They  are  so  called  from  grottoes,  in  Avhich 
some  of  the  primitive  saints  are  said  to  have  been  burnt.  At  the 
time  of  Antonio's  visit,  the  place  was  an  object  of  much  curiosity. 
In  an  excavation  of  these  grottoes,  several  manuscripts  had 
recently  been  discovered,  engraved  on  plates  of  lead.  They  were 
written  in  the  Arabian  language,  excepting  one,  which  was  in 
unknown  characters.  The  pope  had  issued  a  bull,  forbidding  any 
one,  under  pain  of  excommunication,  to  speak  of  these  manu 
scripts.  The  prohibition  had  only  excited  the  greater  curiosity ; 
and  many  reports  were  whispered  about,  that  these  manuscripts 
contained  treasures  of  dark  and  forbidden  knowledge. 

As  Antonio  was  examining  the  place  whence  these  mysterious 
manuscripts  had  been  drawn,  he  again  observed  the  old  man  of 
the  library  wandering  among  the  ruins.  His  curiosity  was  now 
fully  awakened ;  the  time  and  place  served  to  stimulate  it.  He 
resolved  to  watch  this  groper  after  secret  and  forgotten  lore,  and 
to  trace  him  to  his  habitation.  There  was  something  like  adven 
ture  in  the  thing,  which  charmed  his  romantic  disposition.  He 
followed  the  stranger,  therefore,  at  a  little  distance ;  at  first  cau 
tiously,  but  he  soon  observed  him  to  be  so  wrapped  in  his  own 
thoughts,  as  to  take  little  heed  of  external  objects. 

They  passed  along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain,  and  then  by 
the  shady  banks  of  the  Darro.  They  pursued  their  way,  for 
some  distance  from  Grenada,  along  a  lonely  road  leading  among 
the  hills.  The  gloom  of  evening  was  gathering,  and  it  was 


158  BRACEDEIDGE   HALL. 

quite  dark  when  the  stranger  stopped  at  the  portal  of  a  solitary 
mansion. 

It  appeared  to  be  a  mere  wing,  or  ruined  fragment,  of  what 
had  once  heen  a  pile  of  some  consequence.  The  walls  were  of 
great^  thickness,  the  windows  narrow,  and  generally  secured  hy 
iron  bars.  The  door  was  of  planks,  studded  with  iron  spikes, 
and  had  been  of  great  strength,  though  at  present  much  decayed. 
At  one  end  of  the  mansion  was  a  ruinous  tower,  in  the  Moorish 
style  of  architecture.  The  edifice  had  probably  been  a  country 
retreat,  or  castle  of  pleasure,  during  the  occupation  of  Grenada 
by  the  Moors,  and  rendered  sufficiently  strong  to  withstand  any 
casual  assault  in  those  warlike  times. 

The  old  man  knocked  at  the  portal.  A  light  appeared  at  a 
small  window  just  above  it,  and  a  female  head  looked  out :  it 
might  have  served  as  a  model  for  one  of  Raphael's  saints.  The 
hair  was  beautifully  braided,  and  gathered  in  a  silken  net ;  and 
the  complexion,  as  well  as  could  be  judged  from  the  light,  was 
that  soft,  rich  brunette,  so  becoming  in  southern  beauty. 

"  It  is  I,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man.  The  face  instantly 
disappeared,  and  soon  after  a  wicket-door  in  the  large  portal 
opened.  Antonio,  who  had  ventured  near  to  the  building,  caught 
a  transient  sight  of  a  delicate  female  form.  A  pair  of  fine  black 
eyes  darted  a  look  of  surprise  at  seeing  a  stranger  hovering  near, 
and  the  door  was  precipitately  closed. 

There  was  something  in  this  sudden  gleam  of  beauty  that 
wonderfully  struck  the  imagination  of  the  student.  It  was  like  a 
brilliant  flashing  from  its  dark  casket.  He  sauntered  about,  re 
garding  the  gloomy  pile  with  increasing  interest.  A  few  simple, 
wild  notes,  from  among  some  rocks  and  trees  at  a  little  distance, 
attracted  his  attention.  He  found  there  a  group  of  Gitanas,  a 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  159 

vagabond  gipsy  race,  which  at  that  time  abounded  in  Spain,  and 
lived  in  hovels  and  caves  of  the  hills  about  the  neighborhood  of 
Grenada.  Some  were  busy  about  a  fire,  and  others  were  listen 
ing  to  the  uncouth  music  which  one  of  their  companions,  seated 
on  a  ledge  of  the  rock,  was  making  with  a  split  reed. 

Antonio  endeavored  to  obtain  some  information  of  them  con 
cerning  the  old  building  and  its  inhabitants.  The  one  who  ap 
peared  to  be  their  spokesman  was  a  gaunt  fellow,  with  a  subtle 
gait,  a  whispering  voice,  and  a  sinister  roll  of  the  eye.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  on  the  student's  inquiries,  and  said,  "  All 
was  not  right  in  that  building.  An  old  man  inhabited  it,  whom 
nobody  knew,  and  whose  family  appeared  to  be  only  a  daughter 
and  a  female  servant.  I  and  my  companions,"  he  added,  "  live 
up  among  the  neighboring  hills ;  and  as  we  have  been  about  at 
night,  we  have  often  seen  strange  lights  and  heard  strange  sounds 
from  the  tower.  Some  of  the  country  people,  who  work  in  the 
vineyards  among  the  hills,  believe  the  old  man  deals  in  the  black- 
art,  and  they  are  not  overfond  of  passing  near  the  tower  at  night. 
But  for  our  parts,  we  Gitanas  are  not  a  people  to  trouble  our 
selves  with  fears  of  that  kind." 

The  student  endeavored  to  gain  more  precise  information,  but 
they  had  none  to  furnish  him.  They  began  to  be  solicitous  for  a 
compensation  for  what  they  had  already  imparted ;  and  recollect 
ing  the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and  the  vagabond  character  of  his 
companions,  he  was  glad  to  give  them  a  gratuity  and  hasten 
homewards. 

He  sat  down  to  his  studies,  but  his  brain  was  too  full  of  what 
he  had  seen  and  heard ;  his  eye  was  upon  the  page,  but  his  fancy 
still  returned  to  the  tower,  and  he  was  continually  picturing  the  little 
window,  with  the  beautiful  head  peeping  out ;  or  the  door  half 


160  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

open,  and  the  nymph-like  form  within.  He  retired  to  bed,  but 
the  same  objects  haunted  his  dreams.  He  was  young  and  sus 
ceptible  ;  and  the  excited  state  of  his  feelings,  from  wandering 
among  the  abodes  of  departed  grace  and  gallantry,  had  predis 
posed  him  for  a  sudden  impression  from  female  beauty. 

The  next  morning  he  strolled  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
tower.  It  was  still  more  forlorn  by  the  broad  glare  of  day  than 
in  the  gloom  of  evening.  The  walls  were  crumbling,  and  weeds 
and  moss  were  growing  in  every  crevice.  It  had  the  look  of  a 
prison  rather  than  a  dwelling-house.  In  one  angle,  however,  he 
remarked  a  window,  which  seemed  an  exception  to  the  surround 
ing  squalidness.  There  was  a  curtain  drawn  within  it,  and 
flowers  standing  on  the  window-stone.  Whilst  he  was  looking 
at  it,  the  curtain  was  partially  withdrawn,  and  a  delicate  white 
arm,  of  the  most  beautiful  roundness,  was  put  forth  to  water  the 
flowers. 

The  student  made  a  noise  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  fair 
florist.  He  succeeded.  The  curtain  was  further  drawn,  and  he 
had  a  glance  of  the  same  lovely  face  he  had  seen  the  evening 
before ;  it  was  but  a  mere  glance ;  the  curtain  again  fell,  and  the 
casement  closed.  All  this  was  calculated  to  excite  the  feelings  of 
a  romantic  youth.  Had  he  seen  the  unknown  under  other  cir 
cumstances,  it  is  probable  he  would  not  have  been  struck  with 
her  beauty ;  but  this  appearance  of  being  shut  up  and  kept  apart 
gave  her  the  value  of  a  treasured  gem.  He  passed  and  repassed 
before  the  house  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  day,  but  saw 
nothing  more.  He  was  there  again  in  the  evening.  The  whole 
aspect  of  the  house  .was  dreary.  The  narrow  windows  emitted 
no  rays  of  cheerful  light,  to  indicate  social  life  within.  Antonio 
listened  at  the  portal,  but  no  sound  of  voices  reached  his  ear. 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  161 

Just  then  he  heard  the  clapping  to  of  a  distant  door,  and  fearing 
to  be  detected  in  the  unworthy  act  of  eaves-dropping,  he  precipi 
tately  drew  off  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  and  stood  in  the 
shadow  of  a  ruined  archway. 

He  now  remarked  a  light  from  a  window  in  the  tower.  It 
was  fitful  and  changeable ;  commonly  feeble  and  yellowish,  as  if 
from  a  lamp ;  with  an  occasional  glare  of  some  vivid  metallic 
color,  followed  by  a  dusky  glow.  A  column  of  dense  smoke 
would  now  and  then  rise  in  the  air,  and  hang  like  a  canopy  over 
the  tower.  There  was  altogether  such  a  loneliness  and  seeming 
mystery  about  the  building  and  its  inhabitants,  that  Antonio 
was  half  inclined  to  indulge  the  country  people's  notions,  and  to 
fancy  it  the  den  of  some  powerful  sorcerer,  and  the  fair  damsel 
he  had  seen  to  be  some  spell-bound  beauty. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  a  light  appeared  in  the  window 
where  he  had  seen  the  beautiful  arm.  The  curtain  was  down, 
but  it  was  so  thin  that  he  could  perceive  the  shadow  of  some  one 
passing  and  repassing  between  it  and  the  light.  He  fancied 
he  could  distinguish  that  the  form  was  delicate ;  and  from  the 
alacrity  of  its  movementsj  it  was  evidently  youthful.  He  had 
not  a  doubt  but  this  was  the  bedchamber  of  his  beautiful  un 
known. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  guitar,  and  a  female  voice 
singing.  He  drew  near  cautiously,  and  listened.  It  was  a  plain 
tive  Moorish  ballad,  and  he  recognized  in  it  the  lamentations  of 
one  of  the  Abencerrages  on  leaving  the  walls  of  lovely  Grenada. 
It  was  full  of  passion  and  tenderness.  It  spoke  of  the  delights 
of  early  life ;  the  hours  of  love  it  had  enjoyed  on  the  banks  of 
the  Darro,  and  among  the  blissful  abodes  of  the  Alhambra.  It 
bewailed  the  fallen  honors  of  the  Abencerrages,  and  imprecated 


162  BKACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

vengeance  on  their  oppressors.  Antonio  was  affected  by  the 
music.  It  singularly  coincided  with  the  place.  It  was  like  the 
voice  of  past  times  echoed  in  the  present,  and  breathing  among 
the  monuments  of  its  departed  glories. 

The  voice  ceased ;  after  a  time  the  light  disappeared,  and  all 
was  still.  "  She  sleeps ! "  said  Antonio,  fondly.  He  lingered 
about  the  building  with  the  devotion  with  which  a  lover  lingers 
about  the  bower  of  sleeping  beauty.  The  rising  moon  threw  its 
silver  beams  on  the  gray  walls,  and  glittered  on  the  casement. 
The  late  gloomy  landscape  gradually  became  flooded  with  its  ra 
diance.  Finding,  therefore,  that  he  could  no  longer  move  about 
in  obscurity,  and  fearful  that  his  loiterings  might  be  observed,  he 
reluctantly  retired. 

The  curiosity  which  had  at  first  drawn  the  young  man  to  the 
tower  was  now  seconded  by  feelings  of  a  more  romantic  kind. 
His  studies  were  almost  entirely  abandoned.  He  maintained  a 
kind  of  blockade  of  the  old  mansion  ;  he  would  take  a  book  with 
him,  and  pass  a  great  part  of  the  day  under  the  trees  in  its 
vicinity;  keeping  a  vigilant  eye  upon  it,  and  endeavoring  to 
ascertain  what  were  the  walks  of  his  mysterious  charmer.  She 
never  went  out,  however,  except  to  mass,  when  she  was  accompa 
nied  by  her  father.  He  waited  at  the  door  of  the  church,  and 
offered  her  the  holy  water,  in  the  hopes  of  touching  her  hand ;  a 
little  office  of  gallantry  common  in  Catholic  countries.  She 
modestly  declined,  without  raising  her  eyes  to  see  who  made  the 
offer,  and  always  took  it  herself  from  the  font.  She  was  atten 
tive  in  her  devotion ;  her  eyes  were  never  taken  from  the  altar  or 
the  priest ;  and  on  returning  home,  her  countenance  was  almost 
entirely  concealed  by  her  mantilla. 

Antonio  had  now  carried  on  the  pursuit  for  several  days,  and 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  163 

was  hourly  getting  more  and  more  interested  in  the  chase,  but 
never  a  step  nearer  to  the  game.  His  lurkings  about  the  house 
had  probably  been  noticed,  for  he  no  longer  saw  the  fair  face  at 
the  window,  nor  the  white  arm  put  forth  to  water  the  flowers. 
His  only  consolation  was  to  repair  nightly  to  his  post  of  observa 
tion  and  listen  to  her  warbling,  and  if  by  chance  he  could  catch 
a  sight  of  her  shadow,  passing  and  repassing  before  the  window, 
he  thought  himself  most  fortunate. 

As  he  was  indulging  in  one  of  these  evening  vigils,  which 
were  complete  revels  of  the  imagination,  the  sound  of  approach 
ing  footsteps  made  him  withdraw  into  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
ruined  archway,  opposite  to  the  tower.  A  cavalier  approached, 
wrapped  in  a  large  Spanish  cloak.  He  paused  under  the  window 
of  the  tower,  and  after  a  little  while  began  a  serenade,  accompa 
nied  by  his  guitar,  in  the  usual  style  of  Spanish  gallantry.  His 
voice  was  rich  and  manly ;  he  touched  the  instrument  with  skill, 
and  sang  with  amorous  and  impassioned  eloquence.  The  plume 
of  his  hat  was  buckled  by  jewels  that  sparkled  in  the  moon 
beams  ;  and,  as  he  played  on  the  guitar,  his  cloak  falling  off  from 
one  shoulder  showed  him  to  be  richly  dressed.  He  was  evidently 
a  person  of  rank. 

The  idea  now  flashed  across  Antonio's  mind,  that  the  affec 
tions  of  his  unknown  beauty  might  be  engaged.  She  was 
young,  and  doubtless  susceptible ;  and  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of 
Spanish  females  to  be  deaf  and  insensible  to  music  and  admira 
tion.  The  surmise  brought  with  it  a  feeling  of  dreariness.  There 
was  a  pleasant  dream  of  several  days  suddenly  dispelled.  He 
had  never  before  experienced  any  thing  of  the  tender  passion ; 
and,  as  its  morning  dreams  are  always  delightful,  he  would  fain 
have  continued  in  the  delusion. 


164  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

"  But  what  have  1  to  do  with  her  attachments  ?  "  thought  he. 
"  I  have  no  claim  on  her  heart,  nor  even  on  her  acquaintance. 
How  do  I  know  that  she  is  worthy  of  affection  ?  Or  if  she  is, 
must  not  so  gallant  a  lover  as  this,  with  his  jewels,  his  rank, 
and  his  detestable  music,  have  completely  captivated  her? 
What  idle  humor  is  this  that  I  have  fallen  into  ?  I  must  again 
to  my  hooks.  Study,  study  will  soon  chase  away  all  these  idle 
fancies ! " 

The  more  he  thought,  however,  the  more  he  became  entan 
gled  in  the  spell  which  his  lively  imagination  had  woven  round 
him ;  and  now  that  a  rival  had  appeared,  in  addition  to  the  other 
obstacles  that  environed  this  enchanted  beauty,  she  appeared  ten 
times  more  lovely  and  desirable.  It  was  some  slight  consolation 
to  him  to  perceive  that  the  gallantry  of  the  unknown  met  with 
no  apparent  return  from  the  tower.  The  light  at  the  window  was 
extinguished.  The  curtain  remained  undrawn,  and  none  of  the 
customary  signals  were  given  to  intimate  that  the  serenade  was 
accepted. 

The  cavalier  lingered  for  some  time  about  the  place,  and  sang 
several  other  tender  airs  with  a  taste  and  feeling  that  made  An 
tonio's  heart  ache ;  at  length  he  slowly  retired.  The  student  re 
mained  with  folded  arms,  leaning  against  the  ruined  arch, 
endeavoring  to  summon  up  resolution  to  depart ;  but  a  romantic 
fascination  still  enchained  him  to  the  place.  "It  is  the  last 
tune,"  said  he,  willing  to  compromise  between  his  feelings  and 
his  judgment,  "  it  is  the  last  time ;  then  let  me  enjoy  the  dream 
a  few  moments  longer." 

As  his  eye  ranged  about  the  old  building  to  take  a  farewell 
look,  he  observed  the  strange  light  in  the  tower,  which  he  had 
noticed  on  a  former  occasion.  It  kept  beaming  up,  and  declin- 


THE   STUDENT   OP   SALAMAKCA.  165 

ing,  as  before.  A  pillar  of  smoke  rose  in  the  air,  and  hung  in 
sable  volumes.  It  was  evident  the  old  man  was  busied  in  some 
of  those  operations  which  had  gained  him  the  reputation  of  a  sor 
cerer  throughout  the  neighborhood. 

Suddenly  an  intense  and  brilliant  glare  shone  through  the 
casement,  followed  by  a  loud  report,  and  then  a  fierce  and  ruddy 
glow.  A  figure  appeared  at  the  window,  uttering  cries  of  agony 
or  alarm,  but  immediately  disappeared,  and  a  body  of  smoke  and 
flame  whirled  out  of  the  narrow  aperture.  Antonio  rushed  to 
the  portal,  and  knocked  at  it  with  vehemence.  He  was  only 
answered  by  loud  shrieks,  and  found  that  the  females  were 
already  in  helpless  consternation.  With  an  exertion  of  despe 
rate  strength,  he  forced  the  wicket  from  its  hinges,  and  rushed 
into  the  house. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  vaulted  hall,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  which  entered  at  the  door,  he  saw  a  staircase  to  the 
left.  He  hurried  up  it  to  a  narrow  corridor,  through  which  was 
rolling  a  volume  of  smoke.  He  found  here  the  two  females  in  a 
frantic  state  of  alarm ;  one  of  them  clasped  her  hands,  and  im 
plored  him  to  save  her  father. 

The  corridor  terminated  in  a  spiral  flight  of  steps,  leading 
up  to  the  tower.  He  sprang  up  it  to  a  small  door,  through  the 
chinks  of  which  came  a  glow  of  light,  and  smoke  was  spuming 
out.  He  burst  it  open,  and  found  himself  in  an  antique  vaulted 
chamber,  furnished  with  furnace,  and  various  chemical  apparatus. 
A  shattered  retort  lay  on  the  stone  floor ;  a  quantity  of  combus 
tibles,  nearly  consumed,  with  various  half-burnt  books  and  papers, 
were  sending  up  an  expiring  flame,  and  filling  the  chamber  with 
stifling  smoke.  Just  within  the  threshold  lay  the  reputed  con 
jurer.  He  was  bleeding,  his  clothes  were  scorched,  and  he  ap- 


166  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

peared  lifeless.  Antonio  caught  him  up,  and  bore  him  down  the 
stairs  to  a  chamber  in  which  there  was  a  light,  and  laid  him  on  a 
bed.  The  female  domestic  was  dispatched  for  such  appliances  as 
the  house  afforded ;  but  the  daughter  threw  herself  frantically  be 
side  her  parent,  and  could  not  be  reasoned  out  of  her  alarm.  Her 
dress  was  all  in  disorder ;  her  dishevelled  hair  hung  in  rich  con 
fusion  about  her  neck  and  bosom,  and  never  was  there  beheld  a 
lovelier  picture  of  terror  and  affliction. 

The  skilful  assiduities  of  the  scholar  soon  produced  signs  of 
returning  animation  in  his  patient.  The  old  man's  wounds, 
though  severe,  were  not  dangerous.  They  had  evidently  been 
produced  by  the  bursting  of  the  retort ;  in  his  bewilderment  he 
had  been  enveloped  in  the  stifling  metallic  vapors  which  had  over 
powered  his  feeble  frame,  and  had  not  Antonio  arrived  to  his 
assistance,  it  is  possible  he  might  never  have  recovered. 

By  slow  degrees  he  came  to  his  senses.  He  looked  about 
with  a  bewildered  air  at  the  chamber,  the  agitated  group  around, 
and  the  student  Avho  was  leaning  over  him. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  said  he,  wildly. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  his  daughter  uttered  a  faint  excla 
mation  of  delight.  "  My  poor  Inez !  "  said  he,  embracing  her  ; 
then  putting  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  taking  it  away  stained 
with  blood,  he  seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  himself,  and  to  be 
overcome  with  emotion. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  he,  "  all  is  over  with  me  !  all  gone !  all  van 
ished  !  gone  in  a  moment !  the  labor  of  a  lifetime  lost ! " 

His  daughter  attempted  to  soothe  him,  but  he  became  slightly 
delirious,  and  raved  incoherently  about  malignant  demons,  and 
about  the  habitation  of  the  green  lion  being  destroyed.  His 
wounds  being  dressed,  and  such  other  remedies  administered  as 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  167 

his  situation  required,  lie  sunk  into  a  state  of  quiet.  Antonio 
now  turned  his  attention  to  the  daughter,  whose  sufferings  had 
been  little  inferior  to  those  of  her  father.  Having  with  great 
difficulty  succeeded  in  tranquillizing  her  fears,  he  endeavored  to 
prevail  upon  her  to  retire,  and  seek  the  repose  so  necessary  to  her 
frame,  proffering  to  remain  by  her  father  until  morning.  "  I  am 
a  stranger,"  said  he,  "it  is  true,  and  my  offer  may  appear  intru 
sive  ;  but  I  see  you  are  lonely  and  helpless,  and  I  cannot  help 
venturing  over  the  limits  of  mere  ceremony.  Should  you  feel 
any  scruple  or  doubt,  however,  say  but  a  word,  and  I  will  in 
stantly  retire." 

There  was  a  frankness,  a  kindness,  and  a  modesty  mingled  in 
Antonio's  deportment,  which  inspired  instant  confidence  ;  and  his 
simple  scholar's  garb  was  a  recommendation  in  the  house  of  pov 
erty.  The  females  consented  to  resign  the  sufferer  to  his  care,  as 
they  would  be  the  better  able  to  attend  to  him  on  the  morrow. 
On  retiring,  the  old  domestic  was  profuse  in  her  benedictions  ;  the 
daughter  only  looked  her  thanks ;  but  as  they  shone  through  the 
tears  that  filled  her  fine  black  eyes,  the  student  thought  them  a 
thousand  times  the  most  eloquent. 

Here,  then,  he  was,  by  a  singular  turn  of  chance,  completely 
housed  within  this  mysterious  mansion.  When  left  to  himself, 
and  the  bustle  of  the  scene  was  over,  his  heart  throbbed  as  he 
looked  round  the  chamber  in  which  he  was  sitting.  It  was  the 
daughter's  room,  the  promised  land  toward  which  he  had  cast  so 
many  a  longing  gaze.  The  furniture  was  old,  and  had  probably 
belonged  to  the  building  in  its  prosperous  days ;  but  every  thing 
was  arranged  with  propriety.  The  flowers  which  he  had  seen  her 
attend  stood  in  the  window ;  a  guitar  leaned  against  a  table,  on 
which  stood  a  crucifix,  and  before  it  lay  a  missal  and  a  rosary. 


168  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

There  reigned  an  air  of  purity  and  serenity  about  this  little  nest 
ling-place  of  innocence ;  it  was  the  emblem  of  a  chaste  and  quiet 
mind.  Some  few  articles  of  female  dress  lay  on  the  chairs ;  and 
there  was  the  very  bed  on  which  she  had  slept ;  the  pillow  on 
which  her  soft  cheek  had  reclined !  The  poor  scholar  was  tread 
ing  enchanted  ground  ;  for  what  fairy  land  has  more  magic  in  it 
than  the  bedchamber  of  innocence  and  beauty  ? 

From  various  expressions  of  the  old  man  in  his  ravings,  and 
from  what  he  had  noticed  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  the  tower,  to 
see  that  the  fire  was  extinguished,  Antonio  had  gathered  that  his 
patient  was  an  alchemist.  The  philosopher's  stone  was  an  object 
eagerly  sought  after  by  visionaries  in  those  days  ;  but  in  conse 
quence  of  the  superstitious  prejudices  of  the  times,  and  the  fre 
quent  persecutions  of  its  votaries,  they  were  apt  to  pursue  their 
experiments  in  secret ;  in  lonely  houses,  in  caverns  and  ruinsj  or 
in  the  privacy  of  cloistered  cells. 

In  the  course  of  the  night  the  old  man  had  several  fits  of 
restlessness  and  delirium ;  he  would  call  out  upon  Theophrastus, 
and  Geber,  and  Albertus  Magnus,  and  other  sages  of  his  art ; 
and  anon  would  murmur  about  fermentation  and  projection,  until, 
.toward  daylight,  he  once  more  sunk  into  a  salutary  sleep.  When 
the  morning  sun  darted  his  rays  into  the  casement,  the  fair  Inez, 
.attended  by  the  female  domestic,  came  blushing  into  the  cham 
ber.  The  student  now  took  his  leave,  having  himself  need  of 
•repose,  but  obtained  ready  permission  to  return  and  inquire  after 
fthe  sufferer. 

When  he  called  again,  he  found  the  alchemist  languid  and  in 
•pain,  but  apparently  suffering  more  in  mind  than  in  body.  His 
•delirium  had  left  him,  and  he  had  been  informed  of  the  particu 
lars  of  his  deliverance  •  and  of  the  subsequent  attentions  of  the 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  169 

scholar.  He  could  do  little  more  than  look  his  thanks,  hut  Anto 
nio  did  not  require  them  ;  his  own  heart  repaid  him  for  all  that 
he  had  done,  and  he  almost  rejoiced  in  the  disaster  that  had 
gained  him  an  entrance  into  this  mysterious  habitation.  The 
alchemist  was  so  helpless  as  to  need  much  assistance ;  Antonio 
remained  with  him,  therefore,  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  He 
repeated  his  visit  the  next  day,  and  the  next.  Every  day  his 
company  seemed  more  pleasing  to  the  invalid ;  and  every  day  he 
felt  his  interest  in  the  latter  increasing.  Perhaps  the  presence  of 
the  daughter  might  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  this  solicitude. 

He  had  frequent  and  long  conversations  with  the  alchemist. 
He  found  him,  as  men  of  his  pursuits  were  apt  to  be,  a  mixture 
of  enthusiasm  and  simplicity ;  of  curious  and  extensive  reading 
on  points  of  little  utility,  with  great  inattention  to  the  every-day 
occurrences  of  life,  and  profound  ignorance  of  the  world.  He 
was  deeply  versed  in  singular  and  obscure  branches  of  knowledge, 
and  much  given  to  visionary  speculations.  Antonio,  whose  mind 
was  of  a  romantic  cast,  had  himself  given  some  attention  to  the 
occult  sciences,  and  he  entered  upon  these  themes  with  an  ardor 
that  delighted  the  philosopher.  Their  conversations  frequently 
turned  upon  astrology,  divination,  and  the  great  secret.  The  old 
man  would  forget  his  aches  and  wounds,  rise  up  like  a  spectre  in 
his  bed,  and  kindle  into  eloquence  on  his  favorite  topics.  When 
gently  admonished  of  his  situation,  it  would  but  prompt  him  to 
another  sally  of  thought. 

"  Alas,  my  son  !  "  he  would  say,  "  is  not  this  very  decrepitude 
and  suffering  another  proof  of  the  importance  of  those  secrets 
with  which  we  are  surrounded  ?  Why  are  we  trammelled  by  dis 
ease,  withered  by  old  age,  and  our  spirits  quenched,  as  it  were, 
within  us,  but  because  we  have  lost  those  secrets  of  life  and  youth 
8 


170  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

which  were  known  to  our  parents  before  their  fall  ?  To  regain 
these  have  philosophers  been  ever  since  aspiring ;  but  just  as  they 
are  on  the  point  of  securing  the  precious  secrets  for  ever,  the 
brief  period  of  life  is  at  an  end ;  they  die,  and  with  them  all  their 
wisdom  and  experience.  'Nothing,'  as  De  Nuysment  observes, 
'nothing  is  wanting  for  man's  perfection  but  a  longer  life,, less 
crossed  with  sorrows  and  maladies,  to  the  attaining  of  the  full 
and  perfect  knowledge  of  things.'  " 

At  length  Antonio  so  far  gained  on  the  heart  of  his  patient, 
as  to  draw  from  him  the  outlines  of  his  story. 

Felix  de  Vasques,  the  alchemist,  was  a  native  of  Castile,  and 
of  an  ancient  and  honorable  line.  Early  in  life  he  had  married 
a  beautiful  female,  a  descendant  from  one  of  the  Moorish  families. 
The  marriage  displeased  his  father,  who  considered  the  pure 
Spanish  blood  contaminated  by  this  foreign  mixture.  It  is  true, 
the  lady  traced  her  descent  from  one  of  the  Abencerrages,  the 
most  gallant  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had  embraced  the  Chris 
tian  faith  on  being  exiled  from  the  walls  of  Grenada.  The  injured 
pride  of  the  father,  however,  was  not  to  be  appeased.  He  never 
saw  his  son  afterwards ;  and  on  dying  left  him  but  a  scanty  por 
tion  of  his  estate ;  bequeathing  the  residue,  in  the  piety  and  bit 
terness  of  his  heart,  to  the  erection  of  convents,  and  the  per 
formance  of  masses  for  souls  in  purgatory.  Don  Felix  resided 
for  a  long  time  in  the  neighborhood  of  Valladolid,  in  a  state  of 
embarrassment  and  obscurity.  He  devoted  himself  to  intense 
study,  having,  while  at  tho  university  of  Salamanca,  imbibed  a 
taste  for  the  secret  sciences.  He  was  enthusiastic  and  specula 
tive  ;  he  went  on  from  one  branch  of  knowledge  to  another,  until 
he  became  zealous  in  the  search  after  the  grand  Arcanum. 

He  had  at  first  engaged  in  the  pursuit  with  the  hopes  of  rais- 


THE  STUDENT   OF   SALAMAXCA.  171 

ing  himself  from  his  present  obscurity,  and  resuming  the  rank  and 
dignity  to  which  his  birth  entitled  him  ;  but,  as  usual,  it  ended  in 
absorbing  every  thought,  and  becoming  the  business  of  his  exist 
ence.  He  was  at  length  aroused  from  this  mental  abstraction  by 
the  calamities  of  his  household.  A  malignant  fever  swept  off  his 
wife  and  all  his  children,  excepting  an  infant  daughter.  These 
losses  for  a  time  overwhelmed  and  stupefied  him.  His  home  had 
in  a  manner  died  away  from  around  him,  and  he  felt  lonely  and 
forlorn.  When  his  spirit  revived  within  him,  he  determined  to 
abandon  the  scene  of  his  humiliation  and  disaster ;  to  bear  away 
the  child  that  was  still  left  him,  beyond  the  scene  of  contagion, 
and  never  to  return  to  Castile  until  he  should  be  enabled  to  re 
claim  the  honors  of  his  line. 

He  had  ever  since  been  wandering  and  unsettled  in  his  abode. 
Sometimes  the  resident  of  populous  cities,  at  other  times  of  abso 
lute  solitudes.  He  had  searched  libraries,  meditated  on  inscrip 
tions,  visited  adepts  of  different  countries,  and  sought  to  gather 
and  concentrate  the  rays  which  had  been  thrown  by  various 
minds  upon  the  secrets  of  alchemy.  He  had  at  one  time  trav 
elled  quite  to  Padua  to  search  for  the  manuscripts  of  Pietro 
d'Abano,  and  to  inspect  an  urn  which  had  been  dug  up  near 
Este,  supposed  to  have  been  buried  by  Maximus  Olybius,  and  to 
have  contained  the  grand  elixir.* 

*  This  urn  was  found  in  1533.  It  contained  a  lesser  one,  in  which  was  a 
>  burning  lamp  betwixt  two  small  vials,  the  one  of  gold,  the  other  of  silver,  both 
of  them  full  of  a  very  clear  liquor.  On  the  largest  was  an  inscription  stating 
that  Maximus  Olybius  shut  up  in  this  small  vessel  elements  which  he  had  pre 
pared  with  great  toil.  There  were  many  disquisitions  among  the  learned  on  the 
subject.  It  was  the  most  received  opinion  that  this  Maximus  Olybius  was  an 
inhabitant  of  Padua ;  that  he  had  discovered  the  great  secret,  and  that  these  ves 
sels  contained  liquor,  one  to  transmute  metals  to  gold,  the  other  to  silver.  The  peas- 


172  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

/  While  at  Padua  he  met  with  an  adept  versed  in  Arabian  lore, 
who  talked  of  the  invaluable  manuscripts  that  must  remain  in 
the  Spanish  libraries,  preserved  from  the  spoils  of  the  Moorish 
academies  and  universities ;  of  the  probability  of  meeting  with 
precious  unpublished  writings  of  Geber,  and  Alfarabius,  and  Avi- 
cenna,  the  great  physicians  of  the  Arabian  schools,  who,  it  was 
well  known,  had  treated  much  of  alchemy;  but,  above  all,  he 
spoke  of  the  Arabian  tablets  of  lead,  which  had  recently  been 
dug  up  in  the  neighborhood  of  Grenada,  and  which,  it  was  confi 
dently  believed  among  adepts,  contained  the  lost  secrets  of  the  art. 

The  indefatigable  alchemist  once  more  bent  his  steps  for 
Spain,  full  of  renovated  hope.  He  had  made  his  way  to  Grenada : 
he  had  wearied  himself  in  the  study  of  Arabic,  in  deciphering 
inscriptions,  in  rummaging  libraries,  and  exploring  every  possible 
trace  left  by  the  Arabian  sages. 

In  all  his  wanderings  he  had  been  accompanied  by  Inez ; 
through  the  rough  and  the  smooth,  the  pleasant  and  the  adverse ; 
never  complaining,  but  rather  seeking  to  soothe  his  cares  by  her 
innocent  and  playful  caresses.  Her  instruction  had  been  the  em 
ployment  and  the  delight  of  his  hours  of  relaxation.  She  had 
grown  up  while  they  were  wandering,  and  had  scarcely  ever 
known  any  home  but  by  his  side.  He  was  family,  friends,  home, 
every  thing  to  her.  -  He  had  carried  her  in  his  arms  when  they 
first  began  their  wayfaring ;  had  nestled  her,  as  an  eagle  does  its 
young,  among  the  rocky  heights  of  the  Sierra  Morena ;  she  had 
sported  about  him  in  childhood  in  the  solitudes  of  the  Bateucas ; 
had  followed  him,  as  a  lamb  does  the  shepherd,  over  the  rugged 
Pyrenees,  and  into  the  fair  plains  of  Languedoc ;  and  now  she 

ants  who  found  the  urns,  imagining  this  precious  liquor  to  be  common  water,  spilt 
every  drop,  so  that  the  art  of  transmuting  metals  remains  as  much  a  secret  as  ever. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  173 

was  grown  up  to  support  his  feeble  steps  among  the  ruined  abodes 
of  her  maternal  ancestors. 

His  property  had  gradually  wasted  away  in  the  course  of  his 
travels  and  his  experiments.  Still  hope,  the  constant  attendant 
of  the  alchemist,  had  led  him  on ;  ever  on  the  point  of  reaping 
the  reward  of  his  labors,  and  ever  disappointed.  With  the  cre 
dulity  that  often  attended  his  art,  he  attributed  many  of  his  dis 
appointments  to  the  machinations  of  the  malignant  spirits  which 
beset  the  path  of  the  alchemist,  and  torment  him  in  his  solitary 
labors.  "  It  is  their  constant  endeavor,"  he  observed,  "  to  close 
up  every  avenue  to  those  sublime  truths,  which  would  enable  man 
to  rise  above  the  abject  state  into  which  he  has  fallen,  and  to  re 
turn  to  his  original  perfection."  To  the  evil  offices  of  these  demons 
he  attributed  his  late  disaster.  He  had  been  on  the  very  verge  of 
the  glorious  discovery  ;  never  were  the  indications  more  completely 
auspicious  ;  all  was  going  on  prosperously,  when,  at  the  critical  mo 
ment  which  should  have  crowned  his  labors  with  success,  and  have 
placed  him  at  the  very  summit  of  human  power  and  felicity,  the 
bursting  of  a  retort  had  reduced  his  laboratory  and  himself  to  ruins. 

"  I  must  now,"  said  he,  "  give  up  at  the  very  threshold  of  suc 
cess.  My  books  and  papers  are  burnt ;  my  apparatus  is  broken. 
I  am  too  old  to  bear  up  against  these  evils.  The  ardor  that  once 
inspired  me  is  gone ;  my  poor  frame  is  exhausted  by  study  and 
Avatchfulness,  and  this  last  misfortune  has  hurried  me  towards  the 
grave."  He  concluded  in  a  tone  of  deep  dejection.  Antonio  en 
deavored  to  comfort  and  reassure  him  ;  but  the  poor  alchemist  had 
for  once  awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  the  worldly  ills  gather 
ing  around  him,  and  had  sunk  into  despondency.  After  a  pause, 
and  some  thoughtfulness  and  perplexity  of  brow,  Antonio  ven 
tured  to  make  a  proposal. 


]74  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

"  I  have  long,"  said  he,  "  been  filled  with  a  love  for  the  secret 
sciences,  but  have  felt  too  ignorant  and  diffident  to  give  myself 
up  to  them.  You  have  acquired  experience ;  you  have  amassed 
the  knowledge  of  a  lifetime ;  it  were  a  pity  it  should  be  thrown 
away.  You  say  you  are  too  old  to  renew  the  toils  of  the  labora 
tory  ;  suffer  me  to  undertake  them.  Add  your  knowledge  to  my 
youth  and  activity,  and  what  shall  we  not  accomplish  ?  As  a 
probationary  fee,  and  a  fund  on  which  to  proceed,  I  will  bring 
into  the  common  stock  a  sum  of  gold,  the  residue  of  a  legacy, 
which  has  enabled  me  to  complete  my  education.  A  poor  scholar 
cannot  boast  much ;  but  I  trust  we  shall  soon  put  ourselves  be 
yond  the  reach  of  want ;  and  if  we  should  fail,  why,  I  must  de 
pend,  like  other  scholars,  upon  my  brains  to  carry  me  through 
the  world." 

The  philosopher's  spirits,  however,  were  more  depressed  than 
the  student  had  imagined.  This  last  shock,  following  in  the  rear 
of  so  many  disappointments,  had  almost  destroyed  the  reaction  of 
his  mind.  The  fire  of  an  enthusiast,  however,  is  never  so  low, 
but  that  it  may  be  blown  again  into  a  flame.  By  degrees  the  old 
man  was  cheered  and  reanimated  by  the  buoyancy  and  ardor  of 
his  sanguine  companion.  He  at  length  agreed  to  accept  of  the 
services  of  the  student,  and  once  more  to  renew  his  experiments. 
He  objected,  however,  to  using  the  student's  gold,  notwithstand 
ing  his  own  was  nearly  exhausted ;  but  this  objection  was  soon 
overcome ;  the  student  insisted  on  making  it  a  common  stock  and 
common  cause ; — and  then  how  absurd  was  any  delicacy  about 
such  a  trifle,  with  men  who  looked  forward  to  discovering  the 
philosopher's  stone ! 

While,  therefore,  the  alchemist  was  slowly  recovering,  the 
student  busied  himself  in  getting  the  laboratory  once  more  in 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  175 

order.  It  Avas  strewed  with  the  wrecks  of  retorts  and  alembics, 
with  old  crucibles,  boxes  and  phials  of  powders  and  tinctures,  and 
half-burnt  books  and  manuscripts. 

As  soon  as  the  old  man  was  sufficiently  recovered,  the  studies 
and  experiments  were  renewed.  The  student  became  a  privi 
leged  and  frequent  visitor,  and  was  indefatigable  in  his  toils  in 
the  laboratory.  The  philosopher  daily  derived  new  zeal  and 
spirits  from  the  animation  of  his  disciple.  He  was  now  enabled 
to  prosecute  the  enterprise  with  continued  exertion,  having  so 
active  a  coadjutor  to  divide  the  toil.  While  he  was  poring  over 
the  writings  of  Sandivogius,  and  Philalethes,  and  Dominus  de 
Nuysment,  and  endeavoring  to  comprehend  the  symbolical  lan 
guage  in  which  they  have  locked  up  their  mysteries,  Antonio 
would  occupy  himself  among  the  retorts  and  crucibles,  and  keep 
the  furnace  in  a  perpetual  glow. 

With  all  his  zeal,  however,  for  the  discovery  of  the  golden 
art,  the  feelings  of  the  student  had  not  cooled  as  to  the  object 
that  first  drew  him  to  this  ruinous  mansion.  During  the  old 
man's  illness,  he  had  frequent  opportunities  of  being  near  the 
daughter ;  and  every  day  made  him  more  sensible  to  her  charms. 
There  was  a  pure  simplicity,  and  an  almost  passive  gentleness  in 
her  manners ;  yet  with  all  this  was  mingled  something,  whether 
mere  maiden  shyness,  or  a  consciousness  of  high  descent,  or  a 
dash  of  Castilian  pride,  or  perhaps  all  united,  that  prevented  un 
due  familiarity,  and  made  her  difficult  of  approach.  The  danger 
of  her  father,  and  the  measures  to  be  taken  for  his  relief,  had  at 
first  overcome  this  coyness  and  reserve ;  but  as  he  recovered  and 
her  alarm  subsided,  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  familiarity  she 
had  indulged  with  the  youthful  stranger,  and  to  become  every 
day  more  shy  and  silent. 


176  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Antonio  had  read  many  books,  but  this  was  the  first  volume 
of  womankind  that  he  had  ever  studied.  He  had  been  captivated 
with  the  very  title-page ;  but  the  further  he  read  the  more  he 
was  delighted.  She  seemed  formed  to  love ;  her  soft  black  eye 
rolled  languidly  under  its  long  silken  lashes,  and  wherever  it 
turned,  it  would  linger  and  repose;  there  was  tenderness  in 
every  beam.  To  him  alone  she  was  reserved  and  distant.  Now 
that  the  common  cares  of  the  sick-room  were  at  an  end,  he  saw 
little  more  of  her  than  before  his  admission  to  the  house.  Some 
times  he  met  her  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  laboratory,  and  at 
such  times  there  was  ever  a  smile  and  a  blush ;  but,  after  a  sim 
ple  salutation,  she  glided  on  and  disappeared. 

"'Tis  plain,"  thought  Antonio,  "my  presence  is  indifferent, 
if  not  irksome  to  her.  She  has  noticed  my  admiration,  arid  is 
determined  to  discourage  it ;  nothing  but  a  feeling  of  gratitude  pre 
vents  her  treating  me  with  marked  distaste — and  then  has  she  not 
another  lover,  rich,  gallant,  splendid,  musical  ?  how  can  I  suppose 
she  would  turn  her  eyes  from  so  brilliant  a  cavalier  to  a  poor 
obscure  student,  raking  among  the  cinders  of  her  father's  labor 
atory?" 

Indeed,  the  idea  of  the  amorous  serenader  continually  haunted 
his  mind.  He  felt  convinced  that  he  was  a  favored  lover ;  yet, 
if  so,  why  did  he  not  frequent  the  tower  ?  Why  did  he  not  make 
his  approaches  by  noonday  ?  There  was  mystery  in  this  eaves 
dropping  and  musical  courtship.  Surely  Inez  could  not  be  en 
couraging  a  secret  intrigue !  Oh,  no !  she  was  too  artless,  too 
pure,  too  ingenuous!  But  then  the  Spanish  females  were  so 
prone  to  love  and  intrigue ;  and  music  and  moonlight  were  so 
seductive,  and  Inez  had  such  a  tender  soul  languishing  in  every 
look. — "Oh!"  would  the  poor  scholar  exclaim,  clasping  his 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  177 

hands,  "  Oh  that  I  could  but  once  behold  those  loving  eyes  beam 
ing  on  me  with  affection !  " 

It  is  incredible  to  those  who  have  not  experienced  it,  on  what 
scanty  aliment  human  life  and  human  love  may  be  supported.  A 
dry  crust,  thrown  now  and  then  to  a  starving  man,  will  give  him 
a  new  lease  of  existence ;  and  a  faint  smile,  or  a  kind  look,  be 
stowed  at  casual  intervals,  will  keep  a  lover  loving  on,  when  a 
man  in  his  sober  senses  would  despair. 

When  Antonio  found  himself  alone  in  the  laboratory,  his  mind 
would  be  haunted  by  one  of  these  looks,  or  smiles,  which  he  had 
received  in  passing.  He  would  set  it  in  every  possible  light,  aud 
argue  on  it  with  all  the  self-pleasing,  self-teasing  logic  of  a  lover. 

The  country  around  was  enough  to  awaken  that  voluptuous 
ness  of  feeling  so  favorable  to  the  growth  of  passion.  The  win 
dows  of  the  tower  rose  above  the  trees  of  the  romantic  valley  of 
the  Darro,  and  looked  down  upon  some  of  the  loveliest  scenery 
of  the  Vega,  where  groves  of  Citron  and  orange  were  refreshed 
by  cool  springs  and  brooks  of  the  purest  water.  The  Xenel  and 
the  Darro  wound  their  shining  streams  along  the  plain,  and 
gleamed  from  among  its  bowers.  The  surrounding  hills  were 
covered  with  vineyards,  and  the  mountains,  crowned  with  snow, 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  blue  sky.  The  delicate  airs  that  played 
about  the  tower  were  perfumed  by  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and 
orange  blossoms,  and  the  ear  was  charmed  with  the  fond  warbling 
of  the  nightingale,  which,  in  these  happy  regions,  sings  the  whole 
day  long.  Sometimes,  too,  there  was  the  idle  song  of  the  mule 
teer,  sauntering  along  the  solitary  road ;  or  the  notes  of  the 
guitar  from  some  group  of  peasants  dancing  in  the  shade.  All 
these  were  enough  to  fill  the  head  of  a  young  lover  with  poetic 
fancies ;  and  Antonio  would  picture  to  himself  how  he  could  loiter 


178  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

among  those  happy  groves,  and  wander  by  those  gentle  rivers, 
and  love  away  his  life  with  Inez. 

He  felt  at  times  impatient  at  his  own  weakness,  and  would 
endeavor  to  brush  away  these  cobwebs  of  the  mind.  He  would 
turn  his  thought,  with  sudden  effort,  to  his  occult  studies,  or  oc 
cupy  himself  in  some  perplexing  process ;  but  often,  when  he 
had  partially  succeeded  in  fixing  his  attention,  the  sound  of  Inez's 
lute,  or  the  soft  notes  of  her  voice,  would  come  stealing  upon  the 
stillness  of  the  chamber,  and,  as  it  were,  floating  round  the  tower. 
There  was  no  great  art  in  her  performance ;  but  Antonio  thought 
he  had  never  heard  music  comparable  to  this.  It  was  perfect 
witchcraft  to  hear  her  warble  forth  some  of  her  national  melodies ; 
those  little  Spanish  romances  and  Moorish  ballads  which  transport 
the  hearer,  in  idea,  to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  or  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra,  and  make  him  dream  of  beauties,  and  balco 
nies,  and  moonlight  serenades. 

Never  was  poor  student  more  sadly  beset  than  Antonio. 
Love  is  a  troublesome  companion  in  a  study  at  the  best  of  times ; 
but  in  the  laboratory  of  an  alchemist  his  intrusion  is  terribly  dis 
astrous.  Instead  of  attending  to  the  retorts  and  crucibles,  and 
watching  the  process  of  some  experiment  intrusted  to  his  charge, 
the  student  would  get  entranced  in  one  of  these  love-dreams,  from 
which  he  would  often  be  aroused  by  some  fatal  catastrophe.  The 
philosopher,  on  returning  from  his  researches  in  the  libraries, 
would  find  every  thing  gone  wrong,  and  Antonio  in  despair  over 
the  ruins  of  the  whole  day's  work.  The  'old  man,  however,  took 
all  quietly,  for  his  had  been  a  life  of  experiment  and  failure. 

"  We  must  have  patience,  my  son,"  would  he  say,  "  as  all  the 
great  masters  that  have  gone  before  us  have  had.  Errors,  and 
accidents,  and  delays,  are  what  we  have  to  contend  with.  Did 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  179 

not  Pontanus  err  two  hundred  times  before  he  could  obtain  even 
the  matter  on  Avhich  to  found  his  experiments  ?  The  great  Fla- 
mel,  too,  did  he  not  labor  four-and-twenty  years,  before  he  ascer 
tained  the  first  agent?  What  difficulties  and  hardships  did  not 
Cartilaceus  encounter,  at  the  very  threshold  of  his  discoveries? 
And  Bernard  de  Treves,  even  after  he  had  attained  a  knowledge 
of  all  the  requisites,  was  he  not  delayed  full  three  years?  What 
you  consider  accidents,  my  son,  are  the  machinations  of  our  invisi 
ble  enemies.  The  treasures  and  golden  secrets  of  nature  are 
surrounded  by  spirits  hostile  to  man.  The  air  about  us  teems 
with  them.  They  lurk  in  the  fire  of  the  furnace,  in  the  bottom 
of  the  crucible  and  the  alembic,  and  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  take 
advantage  of  those  moments  when  our  minds  are  wandering  from 
intense  meditation  on  the  great  truth  that  we  are  seeking.  We 
must  only  strive  the  more  to  purify  ourselves  from  those  gross  and 
earthly  feelings  which  becloud  the  soul,  and  prevent  her  from 
piercing  into  nature's  arcana." 

"  Alas !  "  thought  Antonio,  "if  to  be  purified  from  all  earthly 
feeling  requires  that  I  should  cease  to  love  Inez,  I  fear  I  shall 
never  discover  the  philosopher's  stone !  " 

In  this  way  matters  went  on  for  some  time  at  the  alchemist's. 
Day  after  day  was  sending  the  student's  gold  in  vapor  up  the 
chimney ;  every  blast  of  the  furnace  made  him  a  ducat  the  poorer, 
without  apparently  helping  him  a  jot  nearer  to  the  golden  secret. 
Still  the  young  man  stood  by,  and  saw  piece  after  piece  disappear 
ing  without  a  murmur :  he  had  daily  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
Inez,  and  felt  as  if  her  favor  would  be  better  than  silver  or  gold, 
and  that  every  smile  was  worth  a  ducat. 

Sometimes,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the  toils  of  the 
laboratory  happened  to  be  suspended,  he  would  walk  with  the 


180  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 


alchemist  in  what  had  once  been  a  garden  belonging  to  the  man 
sion.  There  were  still  the  remains  of  terraces  and  balustrades, 
and  here  and  there  a  marble  urn,  or  mutilated  statue  overturned, 
and  buried  among  weeds  and  flowers  run  wild.  It  was  the  favor 
ite  resort  of  the  alchemist  in  his  hours  of  relaxation,  where  he 
would  give  full  scope  to  his  visionary  flights.  His  mind  was  tinc 
tured  with  the  Eosicrucian  doctrines.  He  believed  in  elementary 
beings ;  some  favorable,  others  adverse  to  his  pursuits ;  and  in 
the  exaltation  of  his  fancy,  had  often  imagined  that  he  held  com 
munion  with  them  in  his  solitary  walks  about  the  whispering 
groves  and  echoing  walls  of  this  old  garden. 

When  accompanied  by  Antonio,  he  would  prolong  these  even 
ing  recreations.  Indeed,  he  sometimes  did  it  out  of  considera 
tion  for  his  disciple,  for  he  feared  lest  his  too  close  application, 
and  his  incessant  seclusion  in  the  tower,  should  be  injurious  to  his 
health.  He  was  delighted  and  surprised  by  this  extraordinary 
zeal  and  perseverance  in  so  young  a  tyro,  and  looked  upon  him 
as  destined  to  be  one  of  the  great  luminaries  of  the  art.  Lest 
the  student  should  repine  at  the  time  lost  in  these  relaxations,  the 
good  alchemist  would  fill  them  up  Avith  wholesome  knowledge,  in 
matters  connected  with  their  pursuits ;  and  would  walk  up  and 
down  the  alleys  with  his  disciple,  imparting  oral  instruction  like 
an  ancient  philosopher.  In  all  his  visionary  schemes  there 
breathed  a  spirit  of  lofty,  though  chimerical  philanthropy,  that 
won  the  admiration  of  the  scholar.  Nothing  sordid,  nor  sensual ; 
nothing  petty  nor  selfish  seemed  to  enter  into  his  views,  in  respect 
to  the  grand  discoveries  he  was  anticipating.  On  the  contrary, 
his  imagination  kindled  with  conceptions  of  widely  dispensated 
happiness.  He  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he  should  be 
able  to  go  about  the  earth  relieving  the  indigent,  comforting  the 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  181 

distressed  ;  and,  by  his  unlimited  means,  devising  and  executing 
plans  for  the  complete  extirpation  of  poverty,  and  all  its  attendant 
sufferings  and  crimes.  Never  were  grander  schemes  for  general 
good,  for  the  distribution  of  boundless  wealth  and  universal  com 
petence,  devised,  than  by  this  poor,  indigent  alchemist  in  his 
ruined  tower. 

Antonio  would  attend  these  peripatetic  lectures  with  all  the 
ardor  of  a  devotee ;  but  there  was  another  circumstance  which 
may  have  given  a  secret  charm  to  them.  The  garden  was  the 
resort  also  of  Inez,  where  she  took  her  walks  of  recreation ;  the 
only  exercise  her  secluded  life  permitted.  As  Antonio  was  dute- 
ously  pacing  by  the  side  of  his  instructor,  he  would  often  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  daughter,  walking  pensively  about  the  alleys  in  the 
soft  twilight.  Sometimes  they  would  meet  her  unexpectedly,  and 
the  heart  of  the  student  would  throb  with  agitation.  A  blush, 
too,  would  crimson  the  cheek  of  Inez,  but  still  she  passed  on,  and 
never  joined  them. 

He  had  remained  one  evening,  until  rather  a  late  hour,  with 
the  alchemist  in  this  favorite  resort.  It  was  a  delightful  night 
after  a  sultry  day,  and  the  balmy  air  of  the  garden  was  peculiarly 
reviving.  The  old  man  was  seated  on  a  fragment  of  a  pedestal, 
looking  like  a  part  of  the  ruin  on  which  he  sat.  He  was  edifying 
his  pupil  by  long  lessons  of  wisdom  from  the  stars,  as  they  shone 
out  with  brilliant  lustre  in  the  dark  blue  vault  of  a  southern  sky ; 
for  he  was  deeply  versed  in  Behmen,  and  other  of  the  Eosicru- 
cians,  and  talked  much  of  the  signature  of  earthly  things,  and 
passing  events,  which  may  be  discerned  in  the  heavens  ;  of  the 
power  of  the  stars  over  corporeal  beings,  and  their  influence  on 
the  fortunes  of  the  sons  of  men. 

By  degrees  the  moon  rose  and  shed  her  gleaming  light  among 


182  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

the  groves.  Antonio  apparently  listened  with  fixed  attention  to 
the  sage,  but  his  ear  was  drinking  in  the  melody  of  Inez'  voice, 
who  was  singing  to  her  lute  in  one  of  the  moonlight  glades  of 
the  garden.  The  old  man  having  exhausted  his  theme,  sat  gaz 
ing  in  silent  reverie  at  the  heavens.  Antonio  could  not  resist  an 
inclination  to  steal  a  look  at  this  coy  beauty,  who  was  thus  play 
ing  the  part  of  the  nightingale,  so  sequestered  and  musical.  Leav 
ing  the  alchemist  in  his  celestial  reverie,  he  stole  gently  along 
one  of  the  alleys.  The  music  had  ceased,  and  he  thought  he 
heard  the  sound  of  voices.  He  came  to  an  angle  of  a  copse  that 
had  screened  a  kind  of  green  recess,  ornamented  by  a  marble 
fountain.  The  moon  shone  full  upon  the  place,  and  by  its  light 
he  beheld  his  unknown  serenading  rival  at  the  feet  of  Inez.  He 
was  detaining  her  by  the  hand,  which  he  covered  with  kisses ; 
but  at  sight  of  Antonio  he  started  up  and  half  drew  his  sword, 
while  Inez,  disengaged,  fled  back  to  the  house. 

All  the  jealous  doubts  and  fears  of  Antonio  were  now  con 
firmed.  He  did  not  remain  to  encounter  the  resentment  of  his 
happy  rival  at  being  thus  interrupted,  but  turned  from  the  place 
in  sudden  wretchedness  of  heart.  That  Inez  should  love  another 
would  have  been  misery  enough ;  but  that  she  should  be  capable 
of  a  dishonorable  amour,  shocked  him  to  the  soul.  The  idea  of 
deception  in  so  young  and  apparently  artless  a  being,  brought 
with  it  that  sudden  distrust  in  human  nature,  so  sickening  to  a 
youthful  and  ingenuous  mind ;  but  when  he  thought  of  the  kind, 
simple  parent  she  was  deceiving,  whose  affections  all  centred  in 
her,  he  felt  for  a  moment  a  sentiment  of  indignation,  and  almost 
of  aversion. 

He  found  the  alchemist  still  seated  in  his  visionary  contempla 
tion  of  the  moon.  "  Come  hither,  my  son,"  said  he,  with  his  usual 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  183 

enthusiasm,  "  come,  read  with  me  in  this  vast  volume  of  wisdom, 
thus  nightly  unfolded  for  our  perusal.  Wisely  did  the  Chaldean 
sages  affirm,  that  the  heaven  is  as  a  mystic  page,  uttering  speech 
to  those  who  can  rightly  understand ;  warning  them  of  good  and 
evil,  and  instructing  them 'in  the  secret  decrees  of  fate." 

The  student's  heart  ached  for  his  venerable  master  ;  and,  for 
a  moment,  he  felt  the  futility  of  all  his  occult  wisdom.  "  Alas ! 
poor  old  man!"  thought  he,  "of  what  avails  all  thy  study? 
Little  dost  thou  dream,  while  busied  in  airy  speculations  among 
the  stars,  what  a  treason  against  thy  happiness  is  going  on  under 
thine  eyes ;  as  it  were,  in  thy  very  bosom  ! — Oh  Inez !  Inez ! 
where  shall  we  look  for  truth  and  innocence ;  where  shall  we  re 
pose  confidence  in  woman,  if  even  you  can  deceive  ?  " 

It  was  a  trite  apostrophe,  such  as  every  lover  makes  when  he 
finds  his  mistress  not  quite  such  a  goddess  as  he  had  painted  her. 
With  the  student,  however,  it  sprang  from  honest  anguish  of 
heart.  He  returned  to  his  lodgings  in  pitiable  confusion  of  mind. 
He  now  deplored  the  infatuation  which  had  led  him  on  until  his 
feelings  were  so  thoroughly  engaged.  He  resolved  to  abandon  his 
pursuits  at  the  tower,  and  trust  to  absence  to  dispel  the  fascina 
tion  by  which  he  had  been  spell-bound.  He  no  longer  thirsted 
after  the  discovery  of  the  grand  elixir :  the  dream  of  alchemy 
was  over ;  for  without  Inez,  what  was  the  value  of  the  philoso 
pher's  stone? 

He  rose,  after  a  sleepless  night,  with  the  determination  of  tak 
ing  his  leave  of  the  alchemist,  and  tearing  himself  from  Grenada. 
For  several  days  did  he  rise  with  the  same  resolution,  and  every 
night  saw  him  come  back  to  his  pillow  to  repine  at  his  want  of 
resolution,  and  to  make  fresh  determinations  for  the  morrow.  In 
the  meanwhile  he  saw  less  of  Inez  than  ever.  She  no  longer 


184  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

walked  in  the  garden,  but  remained  almost  entirely  in  her  apart 
ment.  When  she  met  him,  she  blushed  more  than  usual ;  and 
once  hesitated,  as  if  she  would  have  spoken ;  but  after  a  tempo 
rary  embarrassment,  and  still  deeper  blushes,  she  made  some 
casual  observation,  and  retired.  Antonio  read,  in  this  confusion, 
a  consciousness  of  fault,  and  of  that  fault's  being  discovered. 
"  What  could  she  have  wished  to  communicate  ?  Perhaps  to  ac 
count  for  the  scene  in  the  garden ; — but  how  can  she  account  for 
it,  or  why  should  she  account  for  it  to  me  ?  What  am  I  to  her  ? 
— or  rather,  what  is  she  to  me  ?  "  exclaimed  he,  impatiently ; 
with  a  new  resolution  to  break  through  these  entanglements  of 
the  heart,  and  fly  from  this  enchanted  spot  for  ever. 

He  was  returning  that  very  night  to  his  lodgings,  full  of  this 
excellent  determination,  when,  in  a  shadowy  part  of  the  road,  he 
passed  a  person  whom  he  recognized,  by  his  height  and  form,  for 
his  rival :  he  was  going  in  the  direction  of  the  tower.  If  any 
lingering  doubts  remained,  here  was  an  opportunity  of  settling 
them  completely.  He  determined  to  follow  this  unknown  cava 
lier,  and,  under  favor  of  the  darkness,  observe  his  movements. 
If  he  obtained  access  to  the  tower,  or  in  any  way  a  favorable  re 
ception,  Antonio  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  his  mind,  and 
would  enable  him  to  fix  his  wavering  resolution. 

The  unknown,  as  he  came  near  the  tower,  was  more  cautious 
and  stealthy  in  his  approaches.  He  was  joined  under  a  clump  of 
trees  by  another  person,  and  they  had  much  whispering  together. 
A  light  was  burning  in  the  chamber  of  Inez,  the  curtain  was 
•down,  but  the  casement  was  left  open,  as  the  night  was  warm. 
After  some  time  the  light  was  extinguished.  A  considerable  in 
terval  elapsed.  The  cavalier  and  his  companion  remained  under 
covert  of  the  trees,  as  if  keeping  watch.  At  length  they  ap- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  185 

preached  the  tower  with  silent  and  cautious  steps.  The  cavalier 
received  a  dark  lantern  from  his  companion,  and  threw  off  his 
cloak.  The  other  then  softly  brought  something  from  the  clump 
of  trees,  which  Antonio  perceived  to  be  a  light  ladder :  he  placed 
it  against  the  Avail,  and  the  serenader  gently  ascended.  A  sick 
ening  sensation  came  over  Antonio.  Here  was  indeed  a  con 
firmation  of  every  fear.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  place,  never 
to  return,  when  he  heard  a  stifled  shriek  from  Inez's  chamber. 

In  an  instant  the  fellow  that  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder 
lay  prostrate  on  the  ground.  Antonio  Avrested  a  stiletto  from  his 
nerveless  hand,  and  hurried  up  the  ladder.  He  sprang  in  at  the 
window,  and  found  Inez  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  his  fancied 
rival :  the  latter,  disturbed  from  his  prey,  caught  up  his  lantern, 
turned  its  light  full  upon  Antonio,  and  drawing  his  sword,  made 
a  furious  assault ;  luckily  the  student  saw  the  light  gleam  along 
the  blade,  and  parried  the  thrust  with  the  stiletto.  A  fierce,  but 
unequal  combat  ensued.  Antonio  fought  exposed  to  the  full  glare 
of  the  light,  while  his  antagonist  was  in  shadow  :  his  stiletto,  too, 
was  but  a  poor  defence  against  a  rapier.  He  saw  that  nothing 
would  save  him,  but  closing  Avith  his  adversary,  and  getting 
Avithin  his  Aveapon :  he  rushed  furiously  upon  him,  and  gave  him 
a  severe  bloAV  with  the  stiletto ;  but  received  a  wound  in  return 
from  the  shortened  sword.  At  the  same  moment  a  HOAV  was  in 
flicted  from  behind,  by  the  confederate,  who  had  ascended  the 
ladder ;  it  felled  him  to  the  floor,  and  his  antagonists  made  their 
escape. 

By  this  time  the  cries  of  Inez  had  brought  her  father  and  the 
domestic  to  the  room.  Antonio  Avas  found  weltering  in  his  blood, 
and  senseless.  He  Avas  conveyed  to  the  chamber  of  the  alche 
mist,  Avho  noAV  repaid  in  kind  the  attentions  which  the  student 


186  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

had  once  bestowed  upon  him.  Among  his  varied  knowledge  he 
possessed  some  skill  in  surgery,  which  at  this  moment  was  of 
more  value  than  even  his  chemical  lore.  He  stanched  and 
dressed  the  wounds  of  his  disciple,  which  on  examination  proved 
less  desperate  than  he  had  at  first  apprehended.  For  a  few  days, 
however,  his  case  was  anxious,  and  attended  with  danger.  The 
old  man  watched  over  him  with  the  affection  of  a  parent.  He 
felt  a  double  debt  of  gratitude  towards  him  on  account  of  his 
daughter  and  himself;  he  loved  him  too  as  a  faithful  and  zealous 
disciple ;  and  he  dreaded  lest  the  world  should  be  deprived  of  the 
promising  talents  of  so  aspiring  an  alchemist. 

An  excellent  constitution  soon  medicined  his  wounds ;  and 
there  was  a  balsam  in  the  looks  and  words  of  Inez,  that  had  a 
healing  effect  on  the  still  severer  wounds  which  he  carried  in  his 
heart.  She  displayed  the  strongest  interest  in  his  safety ;  she 
called  him  her  deliverer,  her  preserver.  It  seemed  as  if  her 
grateful  disposition  sought,  in  the  warmth  of  its  acknowledgments, 
to  repay  him  for  past  coldness.  But  what  most  contributed  to 
Antonio's  recovery,  was  her  explanation  concerning  his  supposed 
rival.  It  was  some  time  since  he  had  first  beheld  her  at  church, 
and  he  had  ever  since  persecuted  her  with  his  attentions.  He 
had  beset  her  in  her  walks,  until  she  had  been  obliged  to  confine 
herself  to  the  house,  except  when  accompanied  by  her  father. 
He  had  besieged  her  with  letters,  serenades,  and  every  art  by 
which  he  could  urge  a  vehement,  but  clandestine  and  dishonor 
able  suit.  The  scene  in  the  garden  was  as  much  of  a  surprise  to 
her  as  to  Antonio.  Her  persecutor  had  been  attracted  by  her 
voice,  and  had  found  his  way  over  a  ruined  part  of  the  wall.  He 
had  come  upon  her  unawares,  was  detaining  her  by  force,  and 
pleading  his  insulting  passion,  when  the  appearance  of  the  student 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  187 

interrupted  him,  and  enabled  her  to  make  her  escape.  She  had 
forborne  to  mention  to  her  father  the  persecution  which  she  suf 
fered  ;  she  wished  to  spare  him  unavailing  anxiety  and  distress, 
and  had  determined  to  confine  herself  more  rigorously  to  the 
house ;  though  it  appeared  that  even  here  she  had  not  been  safe 
from  his  daring  enterprise. 

Antonio  inquired  whether  she  knew  the  name  of  this  impetu 
ous  admirer  ?  She  replied,  that  he  had  made  his  advances  under 
a  fictitious  name ;  but  that  she  had  heard  him  once  called  by  the 
name  of  Don  Ambrosio  de  Loxa. 

Antonio  knew  him,  by  report,  for  one  of  the  most  determined 
and  dangerous  libertines  in  all  Grenada.  Artful,  accomplished, 
and,  if  he  chose  to  be  so,  insinuating ;  but  daring  and  headlong 
in  the  pursuit  of  his  pleasures ;  violent  and  implacable  in  his  re 
sentments.  He  rejoiced  to  find  that  Inez  had  been  proof  against 
his  seductions,  and  had  been  inspired  with  aversion  by  his  splen 
did  profligacy ;  but  he  trembled  to  think  of  the  dangers  she  had 
run,  and  he  felt  solicitude  about  the  dangers  that  must  yet  envi 
ron  her. 

At  present,  however,  it  was  probable  the  enemy  had  a  tempo 
rary  quietus.  The  traces  of  blood  had  been  found  for  some  dis 
tance  from  the  ladder,  until  they  were  lost  among  thickets  ;  and 
as  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen  of  him  since,  it  was  concluded 
that  he  had  been  seriously  wounded. 

As  the  student  recovered  from  his  wounds  he  was  enabled  to 
join  Inez  and  her  father  in  their  domestic  intercourse.  The 
chamber  in  which  they  usually  met  had  probably  been  a  saloon 
of  state  in  former  times.  The  floor  was  of  marble ;  the  walls 
were  paTtially  covered  with  remains  of  tapestry ;  the  chairs, 
richly  carved  and  gilt,  were  crazed  with  age,  and  covered  ^wit 


188  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

tarnished  and  tattered  brocade.  Against  the  wall  hung  a  long, 
rusty  rapier,  the  only  relic  that  the  old  man  retained  of  the 
chivalry  of  his  ancestors.  There  might  have  been  something  to 
provoke  a  smile  in  the  contrast  between  the  mansion  and  its 
inhabitants  ;  between  present  poverty  and  the  traces  of  departed 
grandeur ;  but  the  fancy  of  the  student  had  thrown  so  much 
romance  about  the  edifice  and  its  inmates  that  every  thing  was 
clothed  with  charms.  The  philosopher,  with  his  broken-down 
pride,  and  his  strange  pursuits,  seemed  to  comport  with  the  mel 
ancholy  ruin  he  inhabited ;  and  there  was  a  native  elegance  of 
spirit  about  the  daughter,  that  showed  she  would  have  graced  the 
mansion  in  its  happier  days. 

What  deh'cious  moments  were  these  to  the  student!  Inez 
was  no  longer  coy  and  reserved.  She  was  naturally  artless  and 
confiding ;  though  the  kind  of  persecution  she  had  experienced 
from  one  admirer  had  rendered  her,  for  a  time,  suspicious  and  cir 
cumspect  towards  the  other.  She  now  felt  an  entire  confidence 
in  the  sincerity  and  worth  of  Antonio,  mingled  with  an  overflow 
ing  gratitude.  When  her  eyes  met  his,  they  beamed  with  sym 
pathy  and  kindness  ;  and  Antonio,  no  longer  haunted  by  the  idea 
of  a  favored  rival,  once  more  aspired  to  success. 

At  these  domestic  meetings,  however,  he  had  little  opportu 
nity  of  paying  his  court,  except  by  looks.  The  alchemist,  sup 
posing  him,  like  himself,  absorbed  in  the  study  of  alchemy,  en 
deavored  to  cheer  the  tediousness  of  his  recovery  by  long  conver 
sations  on  the  art.  He  even  brought  several  of  his  half-burnt 
volumes,  which  the  student  had  once  rescued  from  the  flames,  and 
rewarded  him  for  their  preservation  by  reading  copious  passages. 
He  would  entertain  him  with  the  great  and  good  acts  of'Flamel, 
which  he  effected  through  means  of  the  philosopher's  stone,  re- 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  189 

lieving  widows  and  orphans,  founding  hospitals,  building  churches, 
and  what  not ;  or  with  the  interrogatories  of  King  Kalid,  and 
the  answers  of  Morienus,  the  Koman  hermit  of  Hierusalem ;  or 
the  profound  questions  which  Elardus,  a  necromancer  of  the  prov 
ince  of  Catalonia,  put  to  the  devil,  touching  the  secrets  of  alche 
my,  and  the  devil's  replies. 

All  these  were  couched  in  occult  language,  almost  unintelli 
gible  to  the  unpractised  ear  of  the  disciple.  Indeed,  the  old  man 
delighted  in  the  mystic  phrases  and  symbolical  jargon  in  which 
the  writers  that  have  treated  of  alchemy  have  Avrapped  their 
communications  ;  rendering  them  incomprehensible  except  to  the 
initiated.  With  what  rapture  would  he  elevate  his  voice  at  a 
triumphant  passage,  announcing  the  grand  discovery !  "  Thou 
shalt  see,"  would  he  exclaim,  in  the  words  of  Henry  Kulmrade,* 
"  the  stone  of  the  philosophers  (our  king)  go  forth  of  the  bed 
chamber  of  his  glassy  sepulchre  into  the  theatre  of  this  world ; 
that  is  to  say,  regenerated  and  made  perfect,  a  shining  carbuncle, 
a  most  temperate  splendor,  whose  most  subtle  and  dephurated 
parts  are  inseparable,  united  into  one  with  a  concordial  mixture, 
exceeding  equal,  transparent  as  crystal,  shining  red  like  a  ruby, 
permanently  coloring  or  ringing,  fixt  in  all  temptations  or  trials ; 
yea,  in  the  examination  of  the  burning  sulphur  itself,  and  the  de 
vouring  waters,  and  in  the  most  vehement  persecution  of  the  fire, 
always  incombustible  and  permanent  as  a  salamander !  " 

The  student  had  a  high  veneration  for  the  fathers  of  alchemy, 
and  a  profound  respect  for  his  instructor ;  but  what  was  Henry 
Kuhnrade,  Geber,  Lully,  or  even  Albertus  Magnus  himself,  com 
pared  to  the  countenance  of  Inez,  which  presented  such  a  page  of 

*  Amphitheatre  of  the  Eternal  Wisdom. 


190  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

beauty  to  his  perusal  ?  While,  therefore,  the  good  alchemist  was 
doling  out  knowledge  by  the  hour,  his  disciple  would  forget 
books,  alchemy,  every  thing  but  the  lovely  object  before  him. 
Inez,  too,  unpractised  in  the  science  of  the  heart,  was  gradually 
becoming  fascinated  by  the  silent  attentions  of  her  lover.  Day 
by  day  she  seemed  more  and  more  perplexed  by  the  kindling  and 
strangely  pleasing  emotions  of  her  bosom.  Her  eye  was  often 
cast  down  in  thought.  Blushes  stole  to  her  cheek  without  any 
apparent  cause,  and  light,  half-suppressed  sighs,  would  follow 
these  short  fits  of  musing.  Her  little  ballads,  though  the  same 
that  she  had  always  sung,  yet  breathed  a  more  tender  spirit. 
Either  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  more  soft  and  touching,  or 
some  passages  were  delivered  with  a  feeling  which  she  had  never 
before  given  them.  Antonio,  beside  his  love  for  the  abstruse  sci 
ences,  had  a  pretty  turn  for  music ;  and  never  did  philosopher 
touch  the  guitar  more  tastefully.  As,  by  degrees,  he  conquered 
the  mutual  embarrassment  that  kept  them  asunder,  he  ventured 
to  accompany  Inez  in  some  of  her  songs.  He  had  a  voice  full  of 
fire  and  tenderness ;  as  he  sang,  one  would  have  thought,  from 
the  kindling  blushes  of  his  companion,  that  he  had  been  plead 
ing  his  own  passion  in  her  ear.  Let  those  who  would  keep 
two  youthful  hearts  asunder  beware  of  music.  Oh !  this  leaning 
over  chairs,  and  conning  the  same  music  book,  and  entwining  of 
voices,  and  melting  away  in  harmonies ! — the  German  waltz  is 
nothing  to  it. 

The  worthy  alchemist  saw  nothing  of  all  this.  His  mind 
could  admit  of  no  idea  that  was  not  connected  with  the  discovery 
of  the  grand  arcanum,  and  he  supposed  his  youthful  coadjutor 
equally  devoted.  He  was  a  mere  child  as  to  human  nature ;  and, 
as  to  the  passion  of  love,  Avhatever  he  might  once  have  felt  of  it, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  191 

he  had  long  since  forgotten  that  there  was  such  an  idle  passion 
in  existence.  But,  while  he  dreamed,  the  silent  amour  went  on. 
The  very  quiet  and  seclusion  of  the  place  were  favorable  to  the 
growth  of  romantic  passion.  The  opening  bud  of  love  was  able 
to  put  forth  leaf  by  leaf,  without  an  adverse  wind  to  check  its 
growth.  There  was  neither  officious  friendship  to  chill  by  its 
advice,  nor  insidious  envy  to  wither  by  its  sneers,  nor  an  observ 
ing  world  to  look  on  and  stare  it  out  of  countenance.  There 
was  neither  declaration,  nor  vow,  nor  any  other  form  of  Cupid's 
canting  school.  Their  hearts  mingled  together,  and  understood 
each  other  without  the  aid  of  language.  They  lapsed  into  the 
full  current  of  affection,  unconscious  of  its  depth,  and  thoughtless 
of  the  rocks  that  might  lurk  beneath  its  surface.  Happy  lovers ! 
who  wanted  nothing  to  make  their  felicity  complete,  but  the  dis 
covery  of  the  philosopher's  stone. 

At  length  Antonio's  health  Avas  sufficiently  restored  to  enable 
him  to  return  to  his  lodgings  in  Grenada.  He  felt  uneasy,  how 
ever,  at  leaving  the  tower,  while  lurking  danger  might  surround 
its  almost  defenceless  inmates.  He  dreaded  lest  Don  Ambrosio, 
recovered  from  his  wounds,  might  plot  some  new  attempt,  by 
secret  art,  or  open  violence.  From  all  that  he  had  heard,  he 
knew  him  to  be  too  implacable  to  suffer  his  defeat  to  pass  un 
avenged,  and  too  rash  and  fearless,  when  his  arts  were  unavail 
ing,  to  stop  at  any  daring  deed  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  pur 
poses.  He  urged  his  apprehensions  to  the  alchemist  and  his 
daughter,  and  proposed  that  they  should  abandon  the  dangerous 
vicinity  of  Grenada. 

"I  have  relations,"  said  he,  "in  Valencia,  poor  indeed,  but 
worthy  and  affectionate.  Among  them  you  will  find  friendship 
and  quiet,  and  we  may  there  pursue  our  labors  unmolested."  He 


192  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

went  on  to  paint  the  beauties  and  delights  of  Valencia  with  all 
the  fondness  of  a  native,  and  all  the  eloquence  with  Avhich  a 
lover  paints  the  fields  and  groves  which  he  is  picturing  as  the 
future  scenes  of  his  happiness.  His  eloquence,  backed  by  the 
apprehensions  of  Inez,  was  successful  with  the  alchemist,  who, 
indeed,  had  led  too  unsettled  a  life  to  be  particular  about  the 
place  of  his  residence ;  and  it  was  determined  that,  as  soon  as 
Antonio's  health  was  perfectly  restored,  they  should  abandon  the 
tower,  and  seek  the  delicious  neighborhood  of  Valencia.* 

To  recruit  his  strength,  the  student  suspended  his  toils  in  the 
laboratory,  and  spent  the  few  remaining  days,  before  departure, 
in  taking  a  farewell  look  at  the  enchanting  environs  of  Grenada. 
He  felt  returning  health  and  vigor  as  he  inhaled  the  pure  tem 
perate  breezes  that  play  about  its  hills ;  and  the  happy  state  of 
his  mind  contributed  to  his  rapid  recovery.  Inez  was  often  the 
companion  of  his  walks.  Her  descent,  by  the  mother's  side,  from 
one  of  the  ancient  Moorish  families,  gave  her  an  interest  in  this 
once  favorite  seat  of  Arabian  power.  She  gazed  with  enthusiasm 
upon  its  magnificent  monuments,  and  her  memory  was  filled  with 
the  traditional  tales  and  ballads  of  Moorish  chivalry.  Indeed, 
the  solitary  life  she  had  led,  and  the  visionary  turn  of  her  father's 

*  Here  are  the  strongest  silks,  the  sweetest  wines,  the  excellent' st  almonds, 
the  best  oyls  and  beautifull'st  females  of  all  Spain.  The  very  bruit  animals 
make  themselves  beds  of  rosemary,  and  other  fragrant  flowers  hereabouts ;  and 
when  one  is  at  sea,  if  the  winde  blow  from  the  shore,  he  may  smell  this  soyl 
before  he  come  in  sight  of  it  many  leagues  off,  by  the  strong  oderiferous  scent 
it  casts.  As  it  is  the  most  pleasant,  so  it  is  also  the  temperat'st  clime  of  all 
Spain,  and  they  commonly  call  it  the  second  Italy,  which  made  the  Moors, 
whereof  many  thousands  were  disterr'd  and  banish'd  hence  to  Barbary,  to  think 
that  Paradise  was  in  that  part  of  the  heavens  which  hung  over  this  citie. 

HOWELL'S 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  193 

mind,  had  produced  an  effect  upon  her  character,  and  given  it  a 
tinge  of  what,  in  modern  days,  would  be  termed  romance.  All 
this  was  called  into  full  force  by  this  new  passion ;  for,  when  a 
woman  first  begins  to  love,  life  is  all  romance  to  her. 

In  one  of  their  evening  strolls,  they  had  ascended  to  the 
mountain  of  the  Sun,  where  is  situated  the  Generaliffe,  the  palace 
of  pleasure,  in  the  days  of  Moorish  dominion,  but  now  a  gloomy 
convent  of  capuchins.  They  had  wandered  about  its  garden, 
among  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  cypress,  where  the  waters, 
leaping  in  torrents,  or  gushing  in  fountains,  or  tossed  aloft  in 
sparkling  jets,  fill  the  air  with  music  and  freshness.  There  is  a 
melancholy  mingled  with  all  the  beauties  of  this  garden,  that 
gradually  stole  over  the  feelings  of  the  lovers.  The  place  is  full 
of  the  sad  story  of  past  times.  It  was  the  favorite  abode  of  the 
lovely  queen  of  Grenada,  where  she  was  surrounded  by  the  de 
lights  of  a  gay  and  voluptuous  court.  It  was  here,  too,  amidst 
her  own  bowers  of  roses,  that  her  slanderers  laid  the  base  story 
of  her  dishonor,  and  struck  a  fatal  blow  to  the  line  of  the  gallant 
Abencerrages. 

The  whole  garden  has  a  look  of  ruin  and  neglect.  Many  of 
the  fountains  are  dry  and  broken ;  the  streams  have  wandered 
from  their  marble  channels,  and  are  choked  by  weeds  and  yellow 
leaves.  The  reed  whistles  to  the  wind  where  it  had  once  sported 
among  roses,  and  shaken  perfume  from  the  orange  blossom.  The 
convent  bell  flings  its  sullen  sound,  or  the  drowsy  vesper  hymn 
floats  along  these  solitudes,  which  once  resounded  with  the  song, 
and  the  dance,  and  the  lover's  serenade.  Well  may  the  Moors 
lament  over  the  loss  of  this  earthly  paradise ;  well  may  they  re 
member  it  in  their  prayers,  and  beseech  Heaven  to  restore  it  to 
the  faithful ;  well  may  their  ambassadors  smite  their  breasts  when 
9 


194  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

they  behold  these  monuments  of  their  race,  and  sit  down  and 
weep  among  the  fading  glories  of  Grenada! 

It  is  impossible  to  wander  about  these  scenes  of  departed  love 
and  gayety,  and  not  feel  the  tenderness  of  the  heart  awakened. 
It  was  then  that  Antonio  first  ventured  to  breathe  his  passion, 
and  to  express  by  words  what  his  eyes  had  long  since  so  eloquently 
revealed.  He  made  his  avowal  with  fervor,  but  with  frankness. 
He  had  no  gay  prospects  to  hold  out :  he  was  a  poor  scholar,  de 
pendent  on  his  "  good  spirits  to  feed  and  clothe  him.'.'  But  a 
woman  in  love  is  no  interested  calculator.  Inez  listened  to  him 
with  downcast  eyes,  but  in  them  was  a  humid  gleam  that  showed 
her  heart  was  with  him.  She  had  no  prudery  in  her  nature ;  and 
she  had  not  been  sufficiently  in  society  to  acquire  it.  She  loved 
him  with  all  the  absence  of  wbrldliness  of  a  genuine  woman ; 
and,  amidst  timid  smiles  and  blushes,  he  drew  from  her  a  modest 
acknowledgment  of  her  affection. 

They  wandered  about  the  garden  with  that  sweet  intoxication 
of  the  soul  which  none  but  happy  lovers  know.  The  world  about 
them  was  all  fairy  land ;  and,  indeed,  it  spread  forth  one  of  its 
fairest  scenes  before  their  eyes,  as  if  to  fulfil  their  dream  of 
earthly  happiness.  They  looked  out  from  between  groves  of 
orange  upon  the  towers  of  Grenada  below  them  ;  the  magnificent 
plain  of  the  Vega  beyond,  streaked  with  evening  sunshine,  and 
the  distant  hills  tinted  with  rosy  and  purple  hues ;  it  seemed  an 
emblem  of  the  happy  future  that  love  and  hope  were  decking  out 
for  them. 

As  if  to  make  the  scene  complete,  a  group  of  Andalusians 
struck  up  a  dance,  in  one  of  the  vistas  of  the  garden,  to  the 
guitars  of  two  wandering  musicians.  The  Spanish  music  is  wild 
and  plaintive,  yet  the  people  dance  to  it  with  spirit  and  enthu- 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  195 

siasm.  The  picturesque  figures  of  the  dances ;  the  girls  with 
their  hair  in  silken  nets  that  hung  in  knots  and  tassels  down  their 
backs,  their  mantillas  floating  round  their  graceful  forms,  their 
slender  feet  peeping  from  under  their  basquinas,  their  arms 
tossed  up  in  the  air  to  play  the  castanets,  had  a  beautiful  effect 
on  this  airy  height,  with  the  rich  evening  landscape  spreading 
out  below  them. 

When  the  dance  was  ended,  tAvo  of  the  parties  approached 
Antonio  and  Inez ;  one  of  them  began  a  soft  and  tender  Moorish 
ballad,  accompanied  by  the  other  on  the  lute.  It  alluded  to  the 
story  of  the  garden,  the  wrongs  of  the  fair  queen  of  Grenada, 
and  the  misfortunes  of  the  Abencerrages.  It  was  one  of  those 
old  ballads  that  abound  in  this  part  of  Spain,  and  live,  like 
echoes,  about  the  ruins  of  Moorish  greatness.  The  heart  of  Inez 
was  at  that  moment  open  to  every  tender  impression ;  the  tears 
rose  into  her  eyes  as  she  listened  to  the  tale.  The  singer  ap 
proached  nearer  to  her ;  she  was  striking  in  her  appearance ; 
young,  beautiful,  with  a  mixture  of  wildness  and  melancholy  in 
her  fine  black  eyes.  She  fixed  them  mournfully  and  expressively 
on  Inez,  and  suddenly  varying  her  manner,  sang  another  ballad, 
which  treated  of  impending  danger  and  treachery.  All  this 
might  have  passed  for  a  mere  accidental  caprice  of  the  singer,  had 
there  not  been  something  in  her  look,  manner,  and  gesticulation, 
that  made  it  pointed  and  startling. 

Inez  was  about  to  ask  the  meaning  of  this  evidently  personal 
application  of  the  song,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  Antonio, 
who  gently  drew  her  from  the  place.  Whilst  she  had  been  lost 
in  attention  to  the  music,  he  had  remarked  a  group  of  men,  in  the 
shadows  of  the  trees,  whispering  together.  They  were  enveloped 
in  the  broad  hats  and  great  cloaks,  so  much  worn  by  the  Span- 


196  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

ish,  and  while  they  were  regarding  himself  and  Inez  attentively, 
seemed  anxious  to  avoid  observation.  Not  knowing  what  might 
be  their  character  or  intention,  he  hastened  to  quit  a  place  Avhere 
the  gathering  shadows  of  evening  might  expose  them  to  intrusion 
and  insult.  On  their  way  down  the  hill,  as  they  passed  through 
the  wood  of  elms,  mingled  with  poplars  and  oleanders,  that  skirts 
the  road  leading  from  the  Alhambra,  he  again  saw  these  men,  ap 
parently  following  at  a  distance ;  and  he  afterwards  caught  sight 
of  them  among  the  trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  He  said 
nothing  on  the  subject  to  Inez,  nor  her  father,  for  he  would  not 
awaken  unnecessary  alarm  ;  but  he  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  ascertain 
or  to  avert  any  machinations  that  might  be  devising  against  the 
helpless  inhabitants  of  the  tower. 

He  took  his  leave  of  them  late  at  night,  full  of  this  perplex 
ity.  As  he  left  the  dreary  old  pile,  he  saw  some  one  lurking  in 
the  shadow  of  the  wall,  apparently  watching  his  movements.  He 
hastened  after  the  figure,  but  it  glided  away,  and  disappeared 
among  some  ruins.  Shortly  after  he  heard  a  low  whistle,  which 
was  answered  from  a  little  distance.  He  had  no  longer  a  doubt 
but  that  some  mischief  was  on  foot,  and  turned  to  hasten  back  to 
the  tower,  and  put  its  inmates  on  their  guard.  He  had  scarcely 
turned,  however,  before  he  found  himself  suddenly  seized  from 
behind,  by  some  one  of  Herculean  strength.  His  struggles  were 
in  vain ;  he  was  surrounded  by  armed  men.  One  threw  a  mantle 
over  him  that  stifled  his  cries,  and  enveloped  him  in  its  folds ; 
and  he  was  hurried  off  with  irresistible  rapidity. 

The  next  day  passed  without  the  appearance  of  Antonio  at 
the  alchemist's.  Another,  and  another  day  succeeded,  and  yet  he 
did  not  come ;  nor  had  any  thing  been  heard  of  him  at  his  lodg 
ings.  His  absence  caused,  at  first,  surprise  and  conjecture,  and 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  197 

at  length  alarm.  Inez  recollected  the  singular  intimations  of 
the  ballad-singer  upon  the  mountain,  which  seemed  to  warn  her 
of  impending  danger,  and  her  mind  was  full  of  vague  forebod 
ings.  She  sat  listening  to  every  sound  at  the  gate,  or  footstep 
on  the  stairs.  She  would  take  up  her  guitar  and  strike  a  few 
notes,  but  it  would  not  do  ;  her  heart  was  sickening  with  suspense 
and  anxiety.  She  had  never  before  felt  what  it  was  to  be  really 
lonely.  She  now  was  conscious  of  the  force  of  that  attachment  which 
had  taken  possession  of  her  breast ;  for  never  do  we  know  how  much 
we  love,  never  do  we  know  how  necessary  the  object  of  our  love  is 
to  our  happiness,  until  we  experience  the  weary  void  of  separation. 

The  philosopher,  too,  felt  the  absence  of  his  disciple  almost 
as  sensibly  as  did  his  daughter.  The  animating  buoyancy  of  the 
youth  had  inspired  him  with  new  ardor,  and  had  given  to  his 
labors  the  charm  of  full  companionship.  However,  he  had  re 
sources  and  consolations  of  which  his  daughter  was  destitute. 
His  pursuits  were  of  a  nature  to  occupy  every  thought,  and  keep 
the  spirits  in  a  state  of  continual  excitement.  Certain  indica 
tions,  too,  had  lately  manifested  themselves,  of  the  most  favorable 
nature.  Forty  days  and  forty  nights  had  the  process  gone  on 
successfully ;  the  old  man's  hopes  were  constantly  rising,  and  he 
now  considered  the  glorious  moment  once  more  at  hand,  when  he 
should  obtain  not  merely  the  major  lunaria,  but  likewise  the  tinc- 
tura  Solaris,  the  means  of  multiplying  gold,  and  of  prolonging 
existence.  He  remained,  therefore,  continually  shut  up  in  his 
laboratory,  watching  his  furnace ;  for  a  moment's  inadvertency 
might  once  more  defeat  all  his  expectations. 

He  was  sitting  one  evening  at  one  of  his  solitary  vigils, 
wrapped  up  in  meditation ;  the  hour  was  late,  and  his  neighbor, 
the  owl,  was  hooting  from  the  battlement  of  the  tower,  when  he 


198  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

heard  the  door  opened  behind  him.  Supposing  it  to  be  his  daughter 
Doming  to  take  her  leave  of  him  for  the  night,  as  was  her  frequent 
practice,  he  called  her  by  name,  but  a  harsh  voice  met  his  ear  in 
reply.  He  was  grasped  by  the  arms,  and  looking  up,  perceived 
three  strange  men  in  the  chamber.  He  attempted  to  shake  them 
off,  but  in  vain.  He  .called  for  help,  but  they  scoffed  at  his  cries. 

"  Peace,  dotard ! "  cried  one,  "  think'st  thou  the  servants  of 
the  most  holy  inquisition  are  to  be  daunted  by  thy  clamors? 
Comrades,  away  with  him !  " 

Without  heeding  his  remonstrances  and  entreaties,  they  seized 
upon  his  books  and  papers,  took  some  note  of  the  apartment,  and 
the  utensils,  and  then  bore  him  off  a  prisoner. 

Inez,  left  to  herself,  had  passed  a  sad  and  lonely  evening ; 
seated  by  a  casement  which  looked  into  the  garden,  she  had  pen 
sively  watched  star  after  star  sparkle  out  of  the  blue  depths  of 
the  sky,  and  was  indulging  a  crowd  of  anxious  thoughts  about 
her  lover,  until  the  rising  tears  began  to  flow.  She  was  suddenly 
alarmed  by  the  sound  of  voices  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  dis 
tant  part  of  the  mansion.  There  was  not  long  after  a  noise  of 
several  persons  descending  the  stairs.  Surprised  at  these  unusual 
sounds  in  their  lonely  habitation,  she  remained  for  a  few  moments 
in  a  state  of  trembling,  yet  indistinct  apprehension,  when  the  ser 
vant  rushed  into  the  room,  with  terror  in  her  countenance,  and 
informed  her  that  her  father  was  carried  off  by  armed  men. 

Inez  did  not  stop  to  hear  further,  but  flew  down  stairs  to 
overtake  them.  She  had  scarcely  passed  the  threshold  when  she 
found  herself  in  the  grasp  of  strangers. — "  Away !  away ! "  cried 
she,  wildly  ;  "  do  not  stop  me — let  me  follow  my  father." 

"  We  come  to  conduct  you  to  him,  senora,"  said  one  of  the 
men,  respectfully. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  199 

"  Where  is  he  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone  to  Grenada,"  replied  the  man :  "  an  unexpected 
circumstance  requires  his  presence  there  immediately  ;  but  he  is 
among  friends." 

"  We  have  no  friends  in  Grenada,"  said  Inez,  drawing  back  ; 
but  then  the  idea  of  Antonio  rushed  into  her  mind ;  something 
relating  to  him  might  have  called  her  father  thither.  "  Is  Seiior 
Antonio  de  Castros  with  him  ?  "  demanded  she  with  agitation. 

"  I  know  not,  sefiora,"  replied  the  man.    "  It  is  very  possible. 

i 
I  only  know  that  your  father  is  among  friends,  and  is  anxious  for 

you  to  follow  him." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,"  cried  she,  eagerly.  The  men  led  her  a 
little  distance  to  where  a  mule  was  waiting,  and,  assisting  her  to 
mount,  they  conducted  her  slowly  towards  the  city. 

Grenada  was  on  that  evening  a  scene  of  fanciful  revel.  It 
was  one  of  the  festivals  of  the  Maestranza,  an  association  of  the 
nobility  to  keep  up  some  of  the  gallant  customs  of  ancient  chiv 
alry.  There  had  been  a  representation  of  a  tournament  in  one  of 
the  squares  ;  the  streets  would  still  occasionally  resound  with  the 
beat  of  a  solitary  drum,  or  the  bray  of  a  trumpet,  from  some  strag 
gling  party  of  revellers.  Sometimes  they  were  met  by  cavaliers, 
richly  dressed  in  ancient  costumes,  attended  by  their  squires,  and 
at  one  time  they  passed  in  sight  of  a  palace  brilliantly  illumi 
nated,  whence  came  the  mingled  sounds  of  music  and  the  dance. 
Shortly  after  they  came  to  the  square,  where  the  mock  tourna 
ment  had  been  held.  It  was  thronged  by  the  populace,  recre 
ating  themselves  among  booths  and  stalls  where  refreshments 
were  sold,  and  the  glare  of  torches  showed  the  temporary  gal 
leries,  and  gay-colored  awnings,  and  armorial  trophies,  and  other 
paraphernalia  of  the  show.  The  conductors  of  Inez  endeavored 


200  BRACEBKIDGE  HALL. 

to  keep  out  of  observation,  and  to  traverse  a  gloomy  part  of  the 
square  ;  but  they  were  detained  at  one  place  by  the  pressure  of  a 
crowd  surrounding  a  party  of  wandering  musicians,  singing  one 
of  those  ballads  of  which  the  Spanish  populace  are  so  passion 
ately  fond.  The  torches  which  were  held  by  some  of  the  crowd, 
threw  a  strong  mass  of  light  upon  Inez,  and  the  sight  of  so  beau 
tiful  a  being,  without  mantilla  or  veil,  looking  so  bewildered,  and 
conducted  by  men  who  seemed  to  take  no  gratification  in  the 
surrounding  gayety,  occasioned  expressions  of  curiosity.  One  of 
the  ballad-singers  approached,  and  striking  her  guitar  with  pecu 
liar  earnestness,  began  to  sing  a  doleful  air,  full  of  sinister  fore 
bodings.  Inez  started  with  surprise.  It  was  the  same  ballad- 
singer  that  had  addressed  her  in  the  garden  of  Generalifte.  It 
was  the  same  air  that  she  had  then  sung.  It  spoke  of  impend 
ing  dangers  ;  they  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  thickening  around  her. 
She  was  anxious  to  speak  with  the  girl,  and  to  ascertain  whether 
she  really  had  a  knowledge  of  any  definite  evil  that  was  threat 
ening  her ;  but  as  she  attempted  to  address  her,  the  mule  on 
which  she  rode  was  suddenly  seized  and  led  forcibly  through  the 
throng  by  one  of  her  conductors,  while  she  saw  another  address 
ing  menacing  words  to  the  ballad-singer.  The  latter  raised  her 
Jband  with  a  warning  gesture  as  Inez  lost  sight  of  her. 

While  she  was  yet  lost  in  perplexity,  caused  by  this  singular 
occurrence,  they  stopped  at  the  gate  of  a  large  mansion.  One  of 
her  attendants  knocked,  the  door  was  opened,  and  they  entered 
.a  paved  court.  "Where  are  we?"  demanded  Inez,  with  anxi- 
•ety.  "At  the  house  of  a  friend,  sefiora,"  replied  the  man. 
•"  Ascend  this  staircase  with  me,  and  in  a  moment  you  will  meet 
your  father." 

They  ascended  a  staircase  that  led  to  a  suit  of  splendid 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  201 

apartments.  They  passed  through  several  until  they  came  to  an 
inner  chamber.  The  door  opened ;  some  one  approached ;  but 
what  was  her  terror  on  perceiving,  not  her  father,  but  Don  Am- 
brosio ! 

The  men  who  had  seized  upon  the  alchemist  had,  at  least, 
been  more  honest  in  their  professions.  They  were,  indeed,  famil 
iars  of  the  inquisition.  He  was  conducted  in  silence  to  the 
gloomy  prison  of  that  horrible  tribunal.  It  Avas  a  mansion  whose 
very  aspect  withered  joy,  and  almost  shut  out  hope.  It  was  one 
of  those  hideous  abodes  which  the  bad  passions  of  men  conjure 
up  in  this  fair  world,  to  rival  the  fancied  dens  of  demons  and  the 
accursed. 

Day  after  day  went  heavily  by,  without  any  thing  to  mark 
the  lapse  of  time  but  the  decline  and  reappearance  of  the  light 
that  feebly  glimmered  through  the  narrow  window  of  the  dun 
geon  in  which  the  unfortunate  alchemist  was  buried  rather  than 
confined.  His  mind  was  harassed  with  uncertainties  and  fears 
about  his  daughter,  so  helpless  and  inexperienced.  He  endeav 
ored  to  gather  tidings  of  her  from  the  man  who  brought  his  daily 
portion  of  food.  The  fellow  stared,  as  if  astonished  at  being 
asked  a  question  in  that  mansion  of  silence  and  mystery,  but  de 
parted  without  saying,  a  word.  Every  succeeding  attempt  was 
equally  fruitless. 

The  poor  alchemist  was  oppressed  with  many  griefs ;  and  it 
was  not  the  least  that  he  had  been  again  interrupted  in  his  labors 
on  the  very  point  of  success.  Never  was  alchemist  so  near 
attaining  the  golden  secret — a  little  longer,  and  all  his  hopes 
would  have  been  realized.  The  thoughts  of  these  disappoint 
ments  afflicted  him  more  than  even  the  fear  of  all  that  he  might 
suffer  from  the  merciless  inquisition.  His  waking  thoughts  would 
0* 


202  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

follow  him  into  his  dreams.  He  would  be  transported  in  fancy 
to  his  laboratory,  busied  again  among  retorts  and  alembics,  and 
surrounded  by  Lully,  by  D'Abano,  by  Olybius,  and  the  other 
masters  of  the  sublime  art.  The  moment  of  projection  would 
arrive ;  a  seraphic  form  would  arise  out  of  the  furnace,  holding 
forth  a  vessel,  containing  the  precious  elixir;  but,  before  he 
could  grasp  the  prize,  he  would  awake,  and  find  himself  in  a 
dungeon. 

All  the  devices  of  inquisitorial  ingenuity  were  employed  to 
ensnare  the  old  man,  and  to  draw  from  him  evidence  that  might 
be  brought  against  himself,  and  might  corroborate  certain  secret 
information  given  against  him.  He  had  been  accused  of  prac 
tising  necromancy  and  judicial  astrology,  and  a  cloud  of  evidence 
had  been  secretly  brought  forward  to  substantiate  the  charge. 
It  would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  all  the  circumstances,  appa 
rently  corroborative,  Avhich  had  been  industriously  cited  by  the 
secret  accuser.  The  silence  which  prevailed  about  the  tower,  its 
desolateness,  the  very  quiet  of  its  inhabitants,  had  been  adduced 
as  proofs  that  something  sinister  was  perpetrated  within.  The 
alchemist's  conversations  and  soliloquies  in  the  garden  had  been 
overheard  and  misrepresented.  The  lights  and  strange  appear 
ances  at  night,  in  the  tower,  were  given  with  violent  exaggera 
tions.  Shrieks  and  yells  were  said  to  have  been  heard  thence  at 
midnight,  when,  it  was  confidently  asserted,  the  old  man  raised 
familiar  spirits  by  his  incantations,  and  even  compelled  the  dead 
to  rise  from  their  graves,  and  answer  to  his  questions. 

The  alchemist,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  inquisition, 
was  kept  in  complete  ignorance  of  his  accuser ;  of  the  witnesses 
produced  against  him ;  even  of  the  crimes  of  which  he  was  ac 
cused.  He  was  examined  generally,  whether  he  knew  why  he 


THE   STUDENT    OF    SALAMANCA.  203 

was  arrested,  and  was  conscious  of  any  guilt  that  might  deserve 
the  notice  of  the  holy  office  ?  He  was  examined  as  to  his  coun 
try,  his  life,  his  habits,  his  pursuits,  his  actions,  and  opinions. 
The  old  man  was  frank  and  simple  in  his  replies ;  he  was  con 
scious  of  no  guilt,  capable  of  no  art,  practised  in  no  dissimula 
tion.  After  receiving  a  general  admonition  to  bethink  himself 
whether  he  had  not  committed  any  act  deserving  of  punishment, 
and  to  prepare,  by  confession,  to  secure  the  well-known  mercy  of 
the  tribunal,  he  was  remanded  to  his  cell. 

He  was  now  visited  in  his  dungeon  by  crafty  familiars  of  the 
inquisition ;  who,  under  pretence  of  sympathy  and  kindness,  came 
to  beguile  the  tediousness  of  his  imprisonment  with  friendly  con 
versation.  They  casually  introduced  the  subject  of  alchemy,  on 
which  they  touched  with  great  caution  and  pretended  indifference. 
There  was  no  need  of  such  craftiness.  The  honest  enthusiast 
had  no  suspicion  in  his  nature :  the  moment  they  touched  upon 
his  favorite  theme,  he  forgot  his  misfortunes  and  imprisonment, 
and  broke  forth  into  rhapsodies  about  the  divine  science. 

The  conversation  was  artfully  turned  to  the  discussion  of  ele 
mentary  beings.  The  alchemist  readily  allowed  his  belief  in 
them  ;  and  that  there  had  been  instances  of  their  attending  upon 
philosophers,  and  administering  to  their  wishes.  He  related 
many  miracles  said  to  have  been  performed  by  Apollonius  Thya- 
neus,  through  the  aid  of  spirits  or  demons  ;  insomuch  that  he  was 
set  up  by  the  heathens  in  opposition  to  the  Messiah ;  and  was 
even  regarded  with  reverence  by  many  Christians.  The  familiars 
eagerly  demanded  whether  he  believed  Apollonius  to  be  a  true 
and  worthy  philosopher.  The  unaffected  piety  of  the  alchemist 
protected  him  even  in  the  midst  of  his  simplicity ;  for  he  con 
demned  Apollonius  as  a  sorcerer  and  an  impostor.  No  art  could 


204  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

draw  from  him  an  admission  that  he  had  ever  employed  or  in 
voked  spiritual  agencies  in  the  prosecution  of  his  pursuits,  though 
he  believed  himself  to  have  been  frequently  impeded  by  their  in 
visible  interference. 

The  inquisitors  were  sorely  vexed  at  not  being  able  to  in 
veigle  him  into  a  confession  of  a  criminal  nature ;  they  attributed 
their  failure  to  craft,  to  obstinacy,  to  every  cause  but  the  right 
one,  namely,  that  the  harmless  visionary  had  nothing  guilty  to 
confess.  They  had  abundant  proof  of  a  secret  nature  against 
him ;  but  it  was  the  practice  of  the  inquisition  to  endeavor  to 
procure  confession  from  the  prisoners.  An  auto  da  fe  was  at 
hand ;  the  worthy  fathers  were  eager  for  his  conviction,  for  they 
were  always  anxious  to  have  a  good  number  of  culprits  con 
demned  to  the  stake,  to  grace  these  solemn  triumphs.  He  was 
at  length  brought  to  a  final  examination. 

The  chamber  of  trial  was  spacious  and  gloomy.  At  one  end 
was  a  huge  crucifix,  the  standard  of  the  inquisition.  A  long 
table  extended  through  the  centre  of  the  room,  at  which  sat  the 
inquisitors  and  their  secretary ;  at  the  other  end  a  stool  was 
placed  for  the  prisoner. 

He  was  brought  in,  according  to  custom,  bare-headed  and  bare 
legged.  He  was  enfeebled  by  confinement  and  affliction ;  by  con 
stantly  brooding  over  the  unknown  fate  of  his  child,  and  the  dis 
astrous  interruption  of  his  experiments.  He  sat  bowed  down  and 
listless;  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast;  his  whole  appearance 
that  of  one  "  past  hope,  abandoned,  and  by  himself  given  over." 

The  accusation  alleged  against  him  was  now  brought  forward 
in  a  specific  form ;  he  was  called  upon  by  name,  Felix  de  Vas- 
quez,  formerly  of  Castile,  to  answer  to  the  charges  of  necromancy 
and  demonology.  He  was  told  that  the  charges  were  amply  sub- 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  205 

stantiated  ;  and  was  asked  whether  he  was  ready,  by  full  confession, 
to  throw  himself  upon  the  well-known  mercy  of  the  holy  inquisition. 

The  philosopher  testified  some  little  surprise  at  the  nature  of 
the  accusation,  but  simply  replied,  "  I  am  innocent." 

"  What  proof  have  you  to  give  of  your  innocence  ?  " 

"  It  rather  remains  for  you  to  prove  your  charges,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner  in  the  land,  and 
know  no  one  out  of  the  doors  of  my  dwelling.  I  can  give 
nothing  in  my  vindication,  but  the  word  of  a  nobleman  and  a 
Castilian." 

The  inquisitor  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  to  repeat  the 
various  inquiries  that  had  before  been  made  as  to  his  mode  of  life 
and  pursuits.  The  poor  alchemist  was  too  feeble  and  too  weary 
at  heart  to  make  any  but  brief  replies.  He  requested  that  some 
man  of  science  might  examine  his  laboratory,  and  all  his  books 
and  papers,  by  which  it  would  be  made  abundantly  evident  that 
he  was  merely  engaged  in  the  study  of  alchemy. 

To  this  the  inquisitor  observed,  that  alchemy  had  become  a 
mere  covert  for  secret  and  deadly  sins.  That  the  practisers  of  it 
were  apt  to  scruple  at  no  means  to  satisfy  their  inordinate  greedi 
ness  of  gold.  Some  had  been  known  to  use  spells  and  impious 
ceremonies ;  to  conjure  the  aid  of  evil  spirits ;  nay,  even  to  sell 
their  souls  to  the  enemy  of  mankind,  so  that  they  might  riot  in 
boundless  wealth  while  living. 

The  poor  alchemist  had  heard  all  patiently,  or,  at  least,  pas 
sively.  He  had  disdained  to  vindicate  his  name  otherwise  than 
by  his  word ;  he  had  smiled  at  the  accusations  of  sorcery,  when 
applied  merely  to  himself ;  but  when  the  sublime  art,  which  had 
been  the  study  and  passion  of  his  life,  was  assailed,  he  could  no 
longer  listen  in  silence.  His  head  gradually  rose  from  his  bosom ; 


206  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

a  hectic  color  came  in  faint  streaks  to  his  cheek ;  played  about 
there,  disappeared,  returned,  and  at  length  kindled  into  a  burn 
ing  glow.  The  clammy  dampness  dried  from  his  forehead ;  his 
eyes,  which  had  been  nearly  extinguished,  lighted  up  again,  and 
burned  with  their  wonted  and  visionary  fires.  He  entered  into  a 
vindication  of  his  favorite  art.  His  voice  at  first  was  feeble  and 
broken ;  but  it  gathered  strength  as  he  proceeded,  until  it  rolled 
in  a  deep  and  sonorous  volume.  He  gradually  rose  from  his  seat 
as  he  rose  with  his  subject ;  he  threw  back  the  scanty  black  man 
tle  which  had  hitherto  wrapped  his  limbs  ;  the  very  uncoutlmess 
of  his  form  and  looks  gave  an  impressive  effect  to  what  he 
uttered ;  it  was  as  though  a  corpse  had  become  suddenly  ani 
mated. 

He  repelled  with  scorn  the  aspersions  cast  upon  alchemy  by 
the  ignorant  and  vulgar.  He  affirmed  it  to  be  the  mother  of  all 
art  and  science,  citing  the  opinions  of  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius, 
Raymond  Lully,  and  others,  in  support  of  his  assertions.  He 
maintained  that  it  was  pure  and  innocent,  and  honorable  both  in 
its  purposes  and  means.  What  were  its  objects  ?  The  perpetu 
ation  of  life  and  youth,  and  the  production  of  gold.  "  The  elixir 
vitae,"  said  he,  "  is  no  charmed  potion,  but  merely  a  concentration 
of  those  elements  of  vitality  which  nature  has  scattered  through 
her  works.  The  philosopher's  stone,  or  tincture,  or  powder,  as  it 
is  variously  called,  is  no  necromantic  talisman,  but  consists  sim 
ply  of  those  particles  which  gold  contains  within  itself  for  its  re 
production  ;  for  gold,  like  other  things,  has  its  seed  within  itself, 
though  bound  up  with  inconceivable  firmness,  from  the  vigor  of 
innate  fixed  salts  and  sulphurs.  In  seeking  to  discover  the  elixir 
of  life,  then,"  continued  he,  "  we  seek  only  to  apply  some  of  na 
ture's  own  specifics  against  the  disease  and  decay  to  which  our 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMAXCA.  207 

bodies  are  subjected ;  and  what  else  does  the  physician,  when  he 
tasks  his  art,  and  uses  subtle  compounds  and  cunning  distillations 
to  revive  our  languishing  powers,  and  avert  the  stroke  of  death 
for  a  season  ? 

"  In  seeking  to  multiply  the  precious  metals,  also,  we  seek  but 
to  germinate  and  multiply,  by  natural  means,  a  particular  spe 
cies  of  nature's  productions ;  and  what  else  does  the  husbandman, 
who  consults  times  and  seasons,  and,  by  what  might  be  deemed 
a  natural  magic,  from  the  mere  scattering  of  his  hand,  covers  a 
whole  plain  with  golden  vegetation  1  The  mysteries  of  our  art, 
it  is  true,  are  deeply  and  darkly  hidden ;  but  it  requires  so  much 
the  more  innocence  and  purity  of  thought  to  penetrate  unto  them. 
No,  father,  the  true  alchemist  must  be  pure  in  mind  and  body ; 
he  must  be  temperate,  patient,  chaste,  watchful,  meek,  humble, 
devout.  ;  My  son,'  says  Hermes  Trismegestes,  the  great  master 
of  our  art,  '  My  son,  I  recommend  you  above  all  things  to  fear 
God.'  And  indeed  it  is  only  by  devout  castigation  of  the  senses 
and  purification  of  the  soul,  that  the  alchemist  is  enabled  to  enter 
into  the  sacred  chambers  of  truth.  *  Labor,  pray,  and  read,'  is 
the  motto  of  our  science.  As  De  Nuysement  well  observes,  '  these 
high  and  singular  favors  are  granted  unto  none,  save  only  unto 
the  sons  of  God,  (that  is  to  say,  the  virtuous  and  devout,)  who, 
under  his  paternal  benediction,  have  obtained  the  opening  of  the 
same,  by  the  helping  hand  of  the  queen  of  arts,  divine  Philoso 
phy.'  Indeed,  so  sacred  has  the  nature  of  this  knowledge  been 
considered,  that  we  are  told  it  has  four  times  been  expressly  com 
municated  by  God  to  man,  having  made  a  part  of  that  cabalisti- 
cal  wisdom  which  was  revealed  to  Adam  to  console  him  for  the 
loss  of  Paradise ;  to  Moses  in  the  bush,  to  Solomon  in  a  dream, 
and  to  Esdras  by  the  angel. 


208  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

"  So  far  from  demons  and  malign  spirits  being  the  friends  and 
abettors  of  the  alchemist,  they  are  the  continual  foes  with  which 
he  has  to  contend.  It  is  their  constant  endeavor  to  shut  up  the 
avenues  to  those  truths  which  would  enable  him  to  rise  above  the 
abject  state  into  which  he  has  fallen,  and  return  to  that  excellence 
which  was  his  original  birthright.  For  what  would  be  the  effect 
of  this  length  of  days,  and  this  abundant  wealth,  but  to  enable 
the  possessor  to  go  on  from  art  to  art,  from  science  to  science, 
with  energies  unimpaired  by  sickness,  uninterrupted  by  death? 
For  this  have  sages  and  philosophers  shut  themselves  up  in  cells 
and  solitudes ;  buried  themselves  in  caves  and  dens  of  the  earth ; 
turning  from  the  joys  of  life,  and  the  pleasance  of  the  world ; 
enduring  scorn,  poverty,  persecution.  For  this  was  Eaymond 
Lully  stoned  to  death  in  Mauritania.  For  this  did  the  immortal 
Pietro  D'Abano  suffer  persecution  at  Padua,  and  when  he  escaped 
from  his  oppressors  by  death,  was  despitefully  burnt  in  effigy. 
For  this  have  illustrious  men  of  all  nations  intrepidly  suffered 
martyrdom.  For  this,  if  unmolested,  have  they  assiduously  em 
ployed  the  latest  hour  of  life,  the  expiring  throb  of  existence ; 
hoping  to  the  last  that  they  might  yet  seize  upon  the  prize  for 
which  they  had  struggled,  and  pluck  themselves  back  even  from 
the  very  jaws  of  the  grave ! 

"  For,  when  once  the  alchemist  shall  have  attained  the  object 
of  his  toils ;  when  the  sublime  secret  shall  be  revealed  to  his 
gaze,  how  glorious  will  be  the  change  in  his  condition  !  'How  will 
he  emerge  from  his  solitary  retreat,  like  the  sun  breaking  forth 
from  the  darksome  chamber  of  the  night,  and  darting  his  beams 
throughout  the  earth !  Gifted  with  perpetual  youth  and  bound 
less  riches,  to  what  heights  of  wisdom  may  he  attain  !  How  may 
he  carry  on,  uninterrupted,  the  thread  of  knowledge,  which  has 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  209 

hitherto  been  snapped  at  the  death  of  each  philosopher !  And, 
as  the  increase  of  wisdom  is  the  increase  of  virtue,  how  may  he 
become  the  benefactor  of  his  fellow-men  ;  dispensing  with  liberal, 
but  cautious  and  discriminating  hand,  that  inexhaustible  wealth 
which  is  at  his  disposal ;  banishing  poverty,  which  is  the  cause  of 
so  much  sorrow  and  wickedness ;  encouraging  the  arts ;  promot 
ing  discoveries,  and  enlarging  all  the  means  of  virtuous  enjoy 
ment  !  His  life  will  be  the  connecting  band  of  generations. 
History  will  live  in  his  recollection  ;  distant  ages  will  speak  with 
his  tongue.  The  nations  of  the  earth  will  look  to  him  as  their 
preceptor,  and  kings  will  sit  at  his  feet  and  learn  wisdom.  Oh 
glorious  !  Oh  celestial  alchemy !  " — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  inquisitor,  who  had  suffered 
him  to  go  on  thus  far,  in  hopes  of  gathering  something  from  his 
unguarded  enthusiasm.  "  Senor,"  said  he,  "this  is  all  rambling, 
visionary  talk.  You  are  charged  with  sorcery,  and  in  defence 
you  give  us  a  rhapsody  about  alchemy.  Have  ypu  nothing  better 
than  this  to  offer  in  your  defence  ?  " 

The  old  man  slowly  resumed  his  seat,  but  did  not  deign  a 
reply.  The  fire  that  had  beamed  in  his  eye  gradually  expired. 
His  cheek  resumed  its  wonted  paleness ;  but  he  did  not  relapse 
into  inanity.  He  sat  with  a  steady,  serene,  patient  look,  like 
one  prepared  not  to  contend  but  to  suffer. 

His  trial  continued  for  a  long  time  with  cruel  mockery  of 
justice,  for  no  witnesses  were  ever,  in  this  court,  confronted  with 
the  accused,  and  the  latter  had  continually  to  defend  himself  in 
the  dark.  Some  unknown  and  powerful  enemy  had  alleged 
charges  against  the  unfortunate  alchemist,  but  who  he  could  not 
imagine.  Stranger  and  sojourner  as  he  was  in  the  land  ;  solitary 
and  harmless  in  his  pursuits,  how  could  he  have  provoked  such 


210  BRACEBEIDGE   HAUL. 

hostility  ?  The  tide  of  secret  testimony,  however,  was  too  strong 
against  him :  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of  magic,  and  con 
demned  to  expiate  his  sins  at  the  stake,  at  the  approaching  auto 
da  fe. 

While  the  unhappy  alchemist  was  undergoing  his  trial  at  the 
inquisition,  his  daughter  was  exposed  to  trials  no  less  severe. 
Don  Ambrosio,  into  whose  hands  she  had  fallen,  was,  as  has  be 
fore  been  intimated,  one  of  the  most  daring  and  lawless  profli 
gates  in  all  Grenada.  He  was  a  man  of  hot  blood  and  fiery  pas 
sions,  who  stopped  at  nothing  in  the  gratification  of  his  desires ; 
yet  with  all  this  he  possessed  manners,  address,  and  accomplish 
ments,  that  had  made  him  eminently  successful  among  the  sex. 
From  the  palace  to  the  cottage  he  had  extended  his  amorous  en 
terprises  ;  his  serenades  harassed  the  slumbers  of  half  the  hus 
bands  in  Grenada  ;  no  balcony  was  too  high  for  his  adventurous 
attempts ;  nor  any  cottage  too  lowly  for  his  perfidious  seductions. 
Yet  he  was  as  fickle  as  he  was  ardent ;  success  had  made  him 
vain  and  capricious  ;  he  had  no  sentiment  to  attach  him  to  the 
victim  of  his  arts ;  and  many  a  pale  cheek  and  fading  eye,  lan 
guishing  amidst  the  sparkling  of  jewels,  and  many  a  breaking 
heart,  throbbing  under  the  rustic  bodice,  bore  testimony  to  his 
triumphs  and  his  faithlessness. 

He  was  sated,  however,  by  easy  conquests,  and  wearied  of  a 
life  of  continual  and  prompt  gratification.  There  had  been  a 
degree  of  difficulty  and  enterprise  in  the  pursuit  of  Inez,  that  he 
had  never  before  experienced.  It  had  aroused  him  from  the  mo 
notony  of  mere  sensual  life,  and  stimulated  him  with  the  charm 
of  adventure.  He  had  become  an  epicure  in  pleasure  ;  and  now 
that  he  had  this  coy  beauty  in  his  power,  he  was  determined  to 
protract  his  enjoyment,  by  the  gradual  conquest  of  her  scruples, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  211 

and  drwnfaD  of  her  virtue.  Ke  was  vain  of  his  person  and  ad 
dress,  r/hich  he  thought  no  woman  could  long  withstand  ;  and  it 
was  a  kind  of  trial  of  skill,  to  endeavor  to  gain  by  art  and  fasci 
nation,  what  he  was  secure  of  obtaining  at  any  time  by  violence. 

When  Inez,  therefore,  was  brought  to  his  presence  by  his 
emissaries,  he  affected  not  to  notice  her  terror  and  surprise ;  but 
received  her  Avith  formal  and  stately  courtesy.  He  was  too  wary 
a  fowler  to  flutter  the  bird  when  just  entangled  in  the  net.  To 
her  eager  and  wild  inquiries  about  her  father,  he  begged  her  not 
to  be  alarmed ;  that  he  was  safe,  and  had  been  there,  but  was 
engaged  elsewhere  in  an  affair  of  moment,  from  which  he  would 
soon  return ;  in  the  meantime  he  had  left  word,  that  she  should 
await  his  return  in  patience.  After  some  stately  expressions  of 
general  civility,  Don  Ambrosio  made  a  ceremonious  bow,  and 
retired. 

The  mind  of  Inez  was  full  of  trouble  and  perplexity.  The 
stately  formality  of  Don  Ambrosio  was  so  unexpected  as  to  check 
the  accusations  and  reproaches  that  were  springing  to  her  lips. 
Had  he  had  evil  designs,  would  he  have  treated  her  with  such 
frigid  ceremony  when  he  had  her  in  his  power  ?  But  why,  then, 
was  she  brought  to  his  house  ?  Was  not  the  mysterious  disap 
pearance  of  Antonio  connected  with  this  ?  A  thought  suddenly 
darted  into  her  mind.  Antonio  had  again  met  with  Don  Ambro 
sio — they  had  fought — Antonio  was  wounded — perhaps  dying ! — 
It  was  him  to  whom  her  father  had  gone. — It  was  at  his  request 
that  Don  Ambrosio  had  sent  for  them  to  soothe  his  dying  mo 
ments  !  These,  and  a  thousand  such  horrible  suggestions,  ha 
rassed  her  mind ;  but  she  tried  in  vain  to  get  information  from 
the  domestics ;  they  knew  nothing  but  that  her  father  had  been 
there,  had  gone,  and  would  soon  return. 


212  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Thus  passed  a  night  of  tumultuous  thought  and  vague  yet 
cruel  apprehensions.  She  knew  not  what  to  do,  or  what  to  be 
lieve  ;  whether  she  ought  to  fly,  or  to  remain ;  but  if  to  fly,  how 
was  she  to  extricate  herself?  and  where  was  she  to  seek  her 
father?  As  the  day  dawned  without  any  intelligence  of  him, 
her  alarm  increased ;  at  length  a  message  was  brought  from  him, 
saying  that  circumstances  prevented  his  return  to  her,  but  beg 
ging  her  to  hasten  to  him  without  delay. 

With  an  eager  and  throbbing  heart  did  she  set  forth  with  the 
men  that  were  to  conduct  her.  She  little  thought,  however,  that 
she  was  merely  changing  her  prison-house.  Don  Ambrosio  had 
feared  lest  she  should  be  traced  to  his  residence  in  Grenada ;  or 
that  he  might  be  interrupted  there  before  he  could  accomplish  his 
plan  of  seduction.  He  had  her  now  conveyed,  therefore,  to  a 
mansion  which  he  possessed  in  one  of  the  mountain  solitudes  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Grenada ;  a  lonely,  but  beautiful  retreat.  In 
vain,  on  her  arrival,  did  she  look  around  for  her  father,  or  Anto 
nio  ;  none  but  strange  faces  met  her  eye ;  menials  profoundly 
respectful,  but  who  knew  nor  saw  any  thing  but  what  their  mas 
ter  pleased. 

She  had  scarcely  arrived  before  Don  Ambrosio  made  his  ap 
pearance,  less  stately  in  his  manner,  but  still  treating  her  with 
the  utmost  delicacy  and  deference.  Inez  was  too  much  agitated 
and  alarmed  to  be  baffled  by  his  courtesy,  and  became  vehement 
in  her  demand  to  be  conducted  to  her  father. 

Don  Ambrosio  now  put  on  an  appearance  of  the  greatest  em 
barrassment  and  emotion.  After  some  delay,  and  much  pre 
tended  confusion,  he  at  length  confessed  that  the  seizure  of  her 
father  was  all  a  stratagem ;  a  mere  false  alarm  to  procure  him 
the  present  opportunity  of  having  access  to  her,  and  endeavoring 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  213 

to  mitigate  that  obduracy,  and  conquer  that  repugnance,  which 
he  declared  had  almost  driven  him  to  distraction. 

He  assured  her  that  her  father  was  again  at  home  in  safety, 
and  occupied  in  his  usual  pursuits ;  having  been  fully  satisfied 
that  his  daughter  was  in  honorable  hands,  and  would  soon  be 
restored  to  him.  In  vain  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  im 
plored  to  be  set  at  liberty ;  he  only  replied  by  gentle  entreaties, 
that  she  would  pardon  the  seeming  violence  he  had  to  use ;  and 
that  she  would  trust  a  little  while  to  his  honor.  "  You  are  here," 
said  he,  "absolute  mistress  of  every  thing:  nothing  shall  be 
said  or  done  to  offend  you ;  I  will  not  even  intrude  upon  your  ear 
the  unhappy  passion  that  is  devouring  my  heart.  Should  you 
require  it,  I  will  even  absent  myself  from  your  presence ;  but  to 
part  with  you  entirely  at  present,  with  your  mind  full  of  doubts 
and  resentments,  would  be  worse  than  death  to  me.  Xo,  beauti 
ful  Inez,  you  must  first  know  me  a  little  better,  and  know  my 
conduct,  that  my  passion  for  you  is  as  delicate  and  respectful  as 
it  is  vehement." 

The  assurance  of  her  father's  safety  had  relieved  Inez  from 
one  cause  of  torturing  anxiety,  only  to  render  her  fears  more  vio 
lent  on  her  own  account.  Don  Ambrosio,  however,  continued  to 
treat  her  Avith  artful  deference,  that  insensibly  lulled  her  appre 
hensions.  It  is  true  she  found  herself  a  captive,  but  no  advantage 
appeared  to  be  taken  of  her  helplessness.  She  soothed  herself 
with  the  idea  that  a  little  while  would  suffice  to  convince  Don 
Ambrosio  of  the  fallacy  of  his  hopes,  and  that  he  would  be  in 
duced  to  restore  her  to  her  home.  Her  transports  of  terror  and 
affliction,  therefore,  subsided,  in  a  few  days,  into  a  passive,  yet 
anxious  melancholy,  with  which  she  awaited  the  hoped-for  event. 

In  the  meanwhile  all  those  artifices  were  employed  that  are 


214  BKACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

calculated  to  charm  the  senses,  ensnare  the  feelings,  and  dissolve 
the  heart  into  tenderness.  Don  Ambrosio  was  a  master  of  the 
subtle  arts  of  seduction.  His  very  mansion  breathed  an  ener 
vating  atmosphere  of  languor  and  delight.  It  was  here,  amidst 
twilight  saloons  and  dreamy  chambers,  buried  among  groves  of 
orange  and  myrtle,  that  he  shut  himself  up  at  times  from  the  pry 
ing  world,  and  gave  free  scope  to  the  gratification  of  his  pleasures. 

The  apartments  were  furnished  in  the  most  sumptuous  and 
voluptuous  manner ;  the  silken  couches  swelled  to  the  touch,  and 
sank  in  downy  softness  beneath  the  slightest  pressure.  The 
paintings  and  statues  all  told  some  classic  tale  of  love,  managed, 
however,  with  an  insidious  delicacy  ;  which,  while  it  banished  the 
grossness  that  might  disgust,  was  the  more  calculated  to  excite 
the  imagination.  There  the  blooming  Adonis  was  seen,  not 
breaking  away  to  pursue  the  boisterous  chase,  but  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  languishing  in  the  embraces  of  celestial  beauty. 
There  Acis  wooed  his  Galatea  in  the  shade,  with  the  Sicilian  sea 
spreading  in  halcyon  serenity  before  them.  There  were  depicted 
groups  of  fauns  and  dryads,  fondly  reclining  in  summer  bowers, 
and  listening  to  the  liquid  piping  of  the  reed ;  or  the  wanton 
satyrs  surprising  some  wood-nymph  during  her  noontide  slumber. 
There,  too,  on  the  storied  tapestry,  might  be  seen  the  chaste 
Diana,  stealing,  in  the  mystery  of  moonlight,  to  kiss  the  sleeping 
Endymion ;  while  Cupid  and  Psyche,  entwined  in  immortal  mar 
ble,  breathed  on  each  other's  lips  the  early  kiss  of  love. 

The  ardent  rays  of  the  sun  were  excluded  from  these  balmy 
halls ;  soft  and  tender  music  from  unseen  musicians  floated 
around,  seeming  to  mingle  with  the  perfumes  exhaled  from  a 
thousand  flowers.  At  night,  when  the  moon  shed  a  fairy  light 
over  the  scene,  the  tender  serenade  would  rise  from  among  the 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  215 

bowers  of  the  garden,  in  which  the  fine  voice  of  Don  Ambrosio 
might  often  be  distinguished ;  or  the  amorous  flute  would  be 
heard  along  the  mountain,  breathing  in  its  pensive  cadences  the 
very  soul  of  a  lover's  melancholy. 

Various  entertainments  were  also  devised  to  dispel  her  loneli 
ness,  and  to  charm  away  the  idea  of  confinement.  Groups  of 
Andalusian  dancers  performed,  in  the  splendid  saloons,  the  vari 
ous  picturesque  dances  of  their  country ;  or  represented  little 
amorous  ballets,  which  turned  upon  some  pleasing  scene  of  pas 
toral  coquetry,  and  courtship.  Sometimes  there  were  bands  of 
singers,  who,  to  the  romantic  guitar,  warbled  forth  ditties  full  of 
passion  and  tenderness. 

Thus  all  about  her  enticed  to  pleasure  and  voluptuousness ; 
but  the  heart  of  Inez  turned  with  distaste  from  this  idle  mockery. 
The  tears  would  rush  into  her  eyes  as  her  thoughts  reverted  from 
this  scene  of  profligate  splendor,  to  the  humble  but  virtuous  home 
whence  she  had  been  betrayed  ;  or  if  the  witching  power  of  music 
ever  soothed  her  into  a  tender  reverie,  it  was  to  dwell  with  fond 
ness  on  the  image  of  Antonio.  But  if  Don  Ambrosio,  deceived 
by  this  transient  calm,  should  attempt  at  such  time  to  whisper  his 
passion,  she  would  start  as  from  a  dream,  and  recoil  from  him. 
with  involuntary  shuddering. 

She  had  passed  one  long  day  of  more  than  ordinary  sadness, 
and  in  the  evening  a  band  of  these  hired  performers  were  exert 
ing  all  the  animating  powers  of  song  and  dance  to  amuse  her. 
But  while  the  lofty  saloon  resounded  with  their  warblings,  and 
the  light  sound  of  feet  upon  its  marble  pavement  kept  time  to  the 
cadence  of  the  song,  poor  Inez,  with  her  face  buried  in  the  silken 
couch  on  which  she  reclined,  was  only  rendered  more  wretched, 
by  the  sound  of  gayety. 


216  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

At  length  her  attention  was  caught  by  the  voice  of  one  of  the 
singers,  that  brought  with  it  some  indefinite  recollections.  She 
raised  her  head,  and  cast  an  anxious  look  at  the  performers,  who, 
as  usual,  were  at  the  lower  end  of  the  saloon.  One  of  them  ad 
vanced  a  little  before  the  others.  It  was  a  female,  dressed  in  a 
fanciful  pastoral  garb,  suited  to  the  character  she  was  sustaining ; 
but  her  countenance  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  the  same 
ballad-singer  that  had  twice  crossed  her  path,  and  given  her  mys 
terious  intimations  of  the  lurking  mischief  that  surrounded  her. 
When  the  rest  of  the  performances  were  concluded,  she  seized  a 
tambourine,  and  tossing  it  aloft,  danced  alone  to  the  melody  of 
her  own  voice.  In  the  course  of  her  dancing  she  approached  to 
where  Inez  reclined :  and  as  she  struck  the  tambourine,  contrived, 
dexterously,  to  throw  a  folded  paper  on  the  couch.  Inez  seized 
it  with  avidity,  and  concealed  it  in  her  bosom.  The  singing  and 
dancing  were  at  an  end ;  the  motley  crew  retired ;  and  Inez,  left 
alone,  hastened  with  anxiety  to  unfold  the  paper  thus  mysteriously 
conveyed.  It  was  written  in  an  agitated,  and  almost  illegible, 
handwriting :  "  Be  on  your  guard !  you  are  surrounded  by 
treachery.  Trust  not  to  the  forbearance  of  Don  Ambrosio ;  you 
are  marked  out  for  his  prey.  An  humble  victim  to  his  perfidy 
gives  you  this  warning ;  she  is  encompassed  by  too  many  dangers 
to  be  more  explicit. — Your  father  is  in  the  dungeons  of  the  inqui 
sition  ! " 

The  brain  of  Inez  reeled  as  she  read  this  dreadful  scroll. 
'She  was  less  filled  with  alarm  at  her  own  danger,  than  horror  at 
her  father's  situation.  The  moment  Don  Ambrosio  appeared,  she 
rushed  and  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  imploring  him  to  save  her 
father.  Don  Ambrosio  started  with  astonishment ;  but  immedi 
ately  regaining  his  self-possession,  endeavored  to  soothe  her  by 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  217 

his  blandishments,  and  by  assurances  that  her  father  was  in  safety. 
She  was  not  to  be  pacified ;  her  fears  were  too  much  aroused  to 
be  trifled  with.  She  declared, her  knowledge  of  her  father's  being 
a  prisoner  of  the  inquisition,  and  reiterated  her  frantic  supplica 
tions  that  he  would  save  him. 

Don  Ambrosio  paused  for  a  moment  in  perplexity,  but  was 
too  adroit  to  be  easily  confounded.  "  That  your  father  is  a  pris 
oner,"  replied  he,  "  I  have  long  known.  I  have  concealed  it 
from  you,  to  save  you  from  fruitless  anxiety.  You  now  know  the 
real  reason  of  the  restraint  I  have  put  upon  your  liberty :  I  have 
been  protecting  instead  of  detaining  you.  Every  exertion  has 
been  made  in  your  father's  favor ;  but  I  regret  to  say,  the  proofs 
of  the  offences  of  which  he  stands  charged  have  been  too  strong 
to  be  controverted.  Still,"  added  he,  "  I  have  it  in  my  power  to 
save  him ;  I  have  influence,  I  have  means  at  my  beck ;  it  may 

involve  me,  it  is  true,  in  difficulties,  perhaps  in  disgrace  ;    but 

« 
what  would   I   not   do  in  the  hopes  of  being  rewarded  by  your 

favor?  Speak,  beautiful  Inez,"  said  he,  his  eyes  kindling  with 
sudden  eagerness  ;  "  it  is  with  you  to  say  the  word  that  seals  your 
father's  fate.  One  kind  word — say  but  you  will  be  mine,  and 
you  Avill  behold  me  at  your  feet,  your  father  at  liberty  and  in 
affluence,  and  we  shall  all  be  happy !  " 

Inez  drew  back  from  him  with  scorn  and  disbelief.  "  My 
father,"  exclaimed  she,  "  is  too  innocent  and  blameless  to  be  con 
victed  of  crime ;  this  is  some  base,  some  cruel  artifice ! "  Don 
Ambrosio  repeated  his  asseverations,  and  with  them  also  his  dis 
honorable  proposals ;  bat  his  eagerness  overshot  its  mark ;  her 
indignation  and  her  incredulity  were  alike  awakened  by  his  base 
suggestions ;  and  he  retired  from  her  presence  checked  and  awed 
by  the  sudden  pride  and  dignity  of  her  demeanor. 
10 


218  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

The  unfortunate  Inez  now  became  a  prey  to  the  most  harrow 
ing  anxieties.  Don  Ambrosio  saw  that  the  mask  had  fallen  from 
his  face,  and  that  the  nature  of  hi$  machinations  was  revealed. 
He  had  gone  too  far  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  assume  the  affecta 
tion  of  tenderness  and  respect ;  indeed,  he  was  mortified  and  in 
censed  at  her  insensibility  to  his  attractions,  and  now  only  sought 
to  subdue  her  through  her  fears.  He  daily  represented  to  her  the 
dangers  that  threatened  her  father,  and  that  it  was  in  his  power 
alone  to  avert  them.  Inez  was  still  incredulous.  She  was  too 
ignorant  of  the  nature  of  the  inquisition  to  know  that  even  inno 
cence  was  not  always  a  protection  from  its  cruelties ;  and  she 
confided  too  surely  in  the  virtue  of  her  father  to  believe  that  any 
accusation  could  prevail  against  him. 

At  length  Don  Ambrosio,  to  give  an  effectual  blow  to  her  con 
fidence,  brought  her  the  proclamation  of  the  approaching  auto  da 
fe,  in  which  the  prisoners  were  enumerated.  She  glanced  her  eye 
over  it,  and  beheld  her  father's  name,  condemned  to  the  stake  for 
sorcery. 

For  a  moment  she  stood  transfixed  with  horror.  Don  Am 
brosio  seized  upon  the  transient  calm.  "  Think  now,  beautiful 
Inez,"  said  he,  with  a  tone  of  affected  tenderness,  "his  life  is 
still  in  your  hands  ;  one  word  from  you,  one  kind  word,  and  I  can 
yet  save  him." 

"  Monster !  wretch !  "  cried  she,  coming  to  herself,  and  recoil 
ing  from  him  with  insuperable  abhorrence :  "  'tis  you  that  are  the 
cause  of  this — 'tis  you  that  are  his  murderer !  "  Then,  wringing 
her  hands,  she  broke  forth  into  exclamations  of  the  most  frantic 
agony. 

The  perfidious  Ambrosio  saw  the  torture  of  her  soul,  and  an 
ticipated  from  it  a  triumph.  He  saw  that  she  was  in  no  mood, 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  219 

during  her  present  paroxysm,  to  listen  to  his  words ;  but  he 
trusted  that  the  horrors  of  lonely  rumination  would  break  down 
her  spirit,  and  subdue  her  to  his  will.  In  this,  however,  he  was 
disappointed.  Many  were  the  vicissitudes  of  mind  of  the 
wretched  Inez  ;  one  time  she  would  embrace  his  knees  with  pierc 
ing  supplications ;  at  another  she  would  shrink  with  nervous  hor 
ror  at  his  very  approach ;  but  any  intimation  of  his  passion  only 
excited  the  same  emotion  of  loathing  and  detestation. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  drew  nigh.  "  To-morrow,"  said  Don 
Ambrosio,  as  he  left  her  one  evening,  "  To-morrow  is  the  auto  da 
fe.  To-morrow  you  will  hear  the  sound  of  the  bell  that  tolls  your 
father  to  his  death.  You  will  almost  see  the  smoke  that  rises 
from  his  funeral  pile.  I  leave  you  to  yourself.  It  is  yet  in  my 
power  to  save  him.  Think  whether  you  can  stand  to-mor 
row's  horrors  without  shrinking.  Think  whether  you  can  en 
dure  the  after-reflection,  that  you  were  the  cause  of  his  death,  and 
that  merely  through  a  perversity  in  refusing  proffered  happiness." 

What  a  night  was  it  to  Inez !  Her  heart,  already  harassed 
and  almost  broken  by  repeated  and  protracted  anxieties ;  her 
strength  wasted  and  enfeebled.  On  every  side  horrors  awaited 
her :  her  father's  death,  her  own  dishonor :  there  seemed  no  escape 
from  misery  or  perdition.  "  Is  there  no  relief  from  man — no  pity 
in  heaven  ?  "  exclaimed  she.  "  What  have  we  done  that  we 
should  be  thus  wretched  ?  " 

As  the  dawn  approached,  the  fever  of  her  mind  arose  to 
agony ;  a  thousand  times  did  she  try  the  doors  and  windows  of 
her  apartment,  in  the  desperate  hope  of  escaping.  Alas !  with 
all  the  splendor  of  her  prison,  it  was  too  faithfully  secured  for  her 
weak  hands  to  work  deliverance.  Like  a  poor  bird,  that  beats 
its  wings  against  its  gilded  cage,  until  it  sinks  panting  in  despair, 


220  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

so  she  threw  herself  on  the  floor  in  hopeless  anguish.  Her  blood 
grew  hot  in  her  veins,  her  tongue  was  parched,  her  temples 
throbbed  with  violence,  she  gasped  rather  than  breathed ;  it 
seemed  as  if  her  brain  was  on  fire.  "  Blessed  Virgin  !  "  exclaimed 
she,  clasping  her  hands,  and  turning  up  her  strained  eyes,  "  look 
down  with  pity,  and  support  me  in  this  dreadful  hour !  " 

Just  as  the  day  began  to  dawn,  she  heard  a  key  turn  softly 
in  the  door  of  her  apartment.  She  dreaded  lest  it  should  be  Don 
Ambrosio :  and  the  very  thought  of  him  gave  her  a  sickening 
pang.  It  was  a  female,  clad  in  a  rustic  dress,  with  her  face  con 
cealed  by  her  mantilla.  She  stepped  silently  into  the  room, 
looked  cautiously  round,  and  then,  uncovering  her  face,  revealed 
the  well-known  features  of  the  ballad-singer.  Inez  uttered  an 
exclamation  of  surprise,  almost  of  joy.  The  unknown  started 
back,  pressed  her  finger  on  her  lips  enjoining  silence,  and  beck 
oned  her  to  follow.  She  hastily  wrapped  herself  in  her  veil,  and 
obeyed.  They  passed  with  quick  but  noiseless  steps  through  an 
ante-chamber,  across  a  spacious  hall,  and  along  a  corridor ;  all 
was  silent ;  the  household  was  yet  locked  in  sleep.  They  came 
to  the  door,  to  which  the  unknown  applied  a  key.  Inez'  heart 
misgave  her ;  she  knew  not  but  some  new  treachery  was  menacing 
her ;  she  laid  her  cold  hand  on  the  stranger's  arm :  "  Whither  are 
you  leading  me  ?  "  said  she.  "  To  liberty,"  replied  the  other  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Do  you  know  the  passages  about  this  mansion  1 " 
"  But  too  well !  "  replied  the  girl,  with  a  melancholy  shake  of 
the  head.  There  was  an  expression  of  sad  veracity  in  her  coun 
tenance  that  was  not  to  be  distrusted.  The  door  opened  on  a 
small  terrace  which  was  overlooked  by  several  windows  of  the 
mansion. 


THE   STTJDEXT    OF    SALAMANCA.  221 

"  We  must  move  across  this  quickly,"  said  the  girl,  "  or  we 
may  be  observed." 

They  glided  over  it  as  if  scarce  touching  the  ground.  A 
flight  of  steps  led  down  into  the  garden ;  a  wicket  at  the  bottom 
was  readily  unbolted :  they  passed  with  breathless  velocity  along 
one  of  the  alleys,  still  in  sight  of  the  mansion,  in  which,  however, 
no  person  appeared  to  be  stirring.  At  length  they  came  to  a  low 
private  door  in  the  wall,  partly  hidden  by  a  fig-tree.  It  was  se 
cured  by  rusty  bolts,  that  refused  to  yield  to  their  feeble  efforts. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "what  is  to  be 
done  ?  one  moment  more,  and  we  may  be  discovered." 

She  seized  a  stone  that  lay  near  by :  a  few  blows,  and  the 
bolts  flew  back ;  the  door  grated  harshly  as  they  opened  it,  and 
the  next  moment  they  found  themselves  in  a  narrow  road. 

"  Now,"  said  the  stranger,  "  for  Grenada  as  quickly  as  possi 
ble  !  The  nearer  we  approach  it,  the  safer  we  shall  be ;  for  the 
road  will  be  more  frequented." 

The  imminent  risk  they  ran  of  being  pursued  and  taken  gave 
supernatural  strength  to  their  limbs ;  they  flew  rather  than  ran. 
The  day  had  dawned ;  the  crimson  streaks  on  the  edge  of  the 
horizon  gave  tokens  of  the  approaching  sunrise  :  already  the  light 
clouds  that  floated  in  the  western  sky  were  tinged  with  gold  and 
purple  ;  though  the  broad  plain  of  the  Vega,  Avhich  now  began  to 
open  upon  their  view,  was  covered  with  the  dark  haze  of  the 
morning.  As  yet  they  only  passed  a  few  straggling  peasants  on 
the  road,  who  could  have  yielded  them  no  assistance  in  case  of 
their  being  overtaken.  They  continued  to  hurry  forward,  and 
had  gained  a  considerable  distance,  when  the  strength  of  Inez, 
which  had  only  been  sustained  by  the  fever  of  her  mind,  began 
to  yield  to  fatigue :  she  slackened  her  pace,  and  faltered. 


222  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

"  Alas !  "  said  she,  "  my  limbs  fail  me !  I  can  go  no  farther !  " 

"  Bear  up,  bear  up,"  replied  her  companion,  cheeringly ;  "  a 
little  farther,  and  we  shall  be  safe :  look !  yonder  is  Grenada, 
just  showing  itself  in  the  valley  below  us.  A  little  farther,  and 
we  shall  come  to  the  main  road,  and  then  we  shall  find  plenty  of 
passengers  to  protect  us." 

Inez,  encouraged,  made  fresh  efforts  to  get  forward,  but  her 
weary  limbs  were  unequal  to  the  eagerness  of  her  mind ;  her 
mouth  and  throat  were  parched  by  agony  and  terror :  she  gasped 
for  breath,  and  leaned  for  support  against  a  rock.  "  It  is  all  in 
vain  !  "  exclaimed  she  ;  "  I  feel  as  though  I  should  faint." 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  the  other ;  "  let  us  get  into  the  shelter  of 
yon  thicket,  that  will  conceal  us  from  view ;  I  hear  the  sound  of 
water,  which  will  refresh  you." 

With  much  difficulty  they  reached  the  thicket,  which  over 
hung  a  small  mountain  stream,  just  where  its  sparkling  waters 
leaped  over  the  rock  and  fell  into  a  natural  basin.  Here  Inez 
sank  upon  the  ground  exhausted.  Her  companion  brought  water 
in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  bathed  her  pallid  temples.  The 
cooling  drops  revived  her ;  she  was  enabled  to  get  to  the  margin 
of  the  stream,  and  drink  of  its  crystal  current ;  then,  reclining 
her  head  on  the  bosom  of  her  deliverer,  she  was  first  enabled  to 
murmur  forth  her  heartfelt  gratitude. 

"  Alas !  "  said  the  other,  "  I  deserve  no  thanks  ;  I  deserve 
not  the  good  opinion  you  express.  In  me  you  behold  a  victim  of 
Don  Ambrosio's  arts.  In  early  years  he  seduced  me  from  the 
cottage  of  my  parents :  look !  at  the  foot  of  yonder  blue  moun 
tain  in  the  distance  lies  my  native  village :  but  it  is  no  longer  a 
home  for  me.  He  lured  me  thence  when  I  was  too  young  for 
reflection ;  he  educated  me,-  taught  me  various  accomplishments, 


THE  STUDEXT  OF  SALAMANCA.  223 

made  me  sensible  to  love,  to  splendor,  to  refinement ;  then,  hav 
ing  grown  weary  of  me,  he  neglected  me,  and  cast  me  upon  the 
world.  Happily,  the  accomplishments  he  taught  me  have  kept 
me  from  utter  want ;  and  the  love  with  which  he  inspired  me  has 
kept  me  from  farther  degradation.  Yes !  I  confess  my  weakness  ; 
all  his  perfidy  and  wrongs  cannot  efface  him  from  my  heart.  I 
have  been  brought  up  to  love  him ;  I  have  no  other  idol :  I  know 
him  to  be  base,  yet  I  cannot  help  adoring  him.  I  am  content  to 
mingle  among  the  hireling  throrig  that  administer  to  his  amuse 
ments,  that  I  may  still  hover  about  him,  and  linger  in  those  halls 
•where  I  once  reigned  mistress.  What  merit,  then,  have  I  in  assist 
ing  your  escape  ?  I  scarce  know  whether  I  am  acting  from  sym 
pathy,  and  a  desire  to  rescue  another  victim  from  his  power ;  or 
jealousy,  and  an  eagerness  to  remove  too  powerful  a  rival ! " 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  the  sun  rose  in  all  its  splendor ; 
first  lighting  up  the  mountain  summits,  then  stealing  down  height 
by  height,  until  its  rays  gilded  the  domes  and  towers  of  Grenada, 
which  they  could  partially  see  from  between  the  trees,  below 
them.  Just  then  the  heavy  tones  of  a  bell  came  sounding  from 
a  distance,  echoing,  in  sullen  clang,  along  the  mountain.  Inez 
turned  pale  at  the  sound.  She  knew  it  to  be  the  great  bell  of 
the  cathedral,  rung  at  sunrise  on  the  day  of  the  auto  da  fti,  to 
give  note  of  funeral  preparation.  Every  stroke  beat  upon  her 
heart,  and  inflicted  an  absolute,  corporeal  pang.  She  started  up 
wildly.  "  Let  us  be  gone !  "  cried  she  ;  ''  there  is  not  a  moment 
for  delay ! " 

.  "  Stop  !  "  exclaimed  the  other,  "  yonder  are  horsemen  coming 
over  the  brow  of  that  distant  height ;  if  I  mistake  not,  Don  Am- 
brosio  is  at  their  head. — Alas !  'tis  he ;  we  are  lost.  Hold ! '' 
continued  she,  "  give  me  your  scarf  and  veil ;  wrap  yourself  in 


224  BBACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

this  mantilla.  I  will  fly  up  yon  footpath  that  leads  to  the  heights. 
I  will  let  the  veil  flutter  as  I  ascend ;  perhaps  they  may  mistake 
me  for  you,  and  they  must  dismount  to  follow  me.  Do  you  has 
ten  forward :  you  will  soon  reach  the  main  road.  You  have  jewels 
on  your  fingers :  bribe  the  first  muleteer  you  meet  to  assist  you 
on  your  way." 

All  this  was  said  with  hurried  and  breathless  rapidity.  The 
exchange  of  garments  was  made  in  an  instant.  The  girl  darted 
up  the  mountain  path,  her  white  veil  fluttering  among  the  dark 
shrubbery ;  while  Inez,  inspired  with  new  strength,  or  rather  new 
terror,  flew  to  the  road,  and  trusted  to  Providence  to  guide  her 
tottering  steps  to  Grenada. 

All  Grenada  was  in  agitation  on  the  morning  of  this  dismal 
day.  The  heavy  bell  of  the  cathedral  continued  to  utter  its  clang 
ing  tones,  that  pervaded  every  part  of  the  city,  summoning  all 
persons  to  the  tremendous  spectacle  about  to  be  exhibited.  The 
streets  through  which  the  procession  was  to  pass  were  crowded 
with  the  populace.  The  windows,  the  roofs,  every  place  that 
could  admit  a  face  or  a  foothold,  was  alive  with  spectators.  In 
the  great  square  a  spacious  scaffolding,  like  an  amphitheatre,  was 
erected,  where  the  sentences  of  the  prisoners  were  to  be  read,  and 
the  sermon  of  faith  to  be  preached ;  and  close  by  were  the  stakes 
prepared,  where  the  condemned  were  to  be  burnt  to  death.  Seats 
were  arranged  for  the  great,  the  gay,  the  beautiful ;  for  such  is  the 
horrible  curiosity  of  human  nature,  that  this  cruel  sacrifice  was 
attended  with  more  eagerness  than  a  theatre,  or  even  a  bull-feast. 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  scaffolds  and  balconies  were  filled 
with  expecting  multitudes;  the  sun  shone  brightly  upon  fair 
faces  and  gallant  dresses ;  one  would  have  thought  it  some  scene 
of  elegant  festivity,  instead  of  an  exhibition  of  human  agony  and 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA.  225 

death.  But  what  a  different  spectacle  and  ceremony  was  this 
from  those  which  Grenada  exhibited  in  the  days  of  her  Moorish 
splendor.  "  Her  galas,  her  tournaments,  her  sports  of  the  ring, 
her  fetes  of  St.  John,  her  music,  her  Zambras,  and  admirable  tilts 
of  canes  !  Her  serenades,  her  concerts,  her  songs  in  Generaliffe ! 
The  costly  liveries  of  the  Abencerrages,  their  exquisite  inventions, 
the  skill  and  valor  of  the  Alabaces,  the  superb  dresses  of  the  Ze- 
gries,  Mazas,  and  Gomeles !  "  * — All  these  were  at  an  end.  The 
days  of  chivalry  were  over.  Instead  of  the  prancing  cavalcade, 
with  neighing  steed  and  lively  trumpet ;  with  burnished  lance, 
and  helm,  and  buckler ;  with  rich  confusion  of  plume,  and  scarf, 
and  banner,  where  purple,  and  scarlet,  and  green,  and  orange,  and 
every  gay  color,  were  mingled  with  cloth  of  gold  and  fair  embroi 
dery  ;  instead  of  this  crept  on  the  gloomy  pageant  of  supersti 
tion,  in  cowl  and  sackcloth ;  with  cross  and  coffin,  and  frightful 
symbols  of  human  suffering.  In  place  of  the  frank,  hardy  knight, 
open  and  brave,  with  his  lady's  favor  in  his  casque,  and  amorous 
motto  on  his  shield,  looking,  by  gallant  deeds,  to  win  the  smile 
of  beauty,  came  the  shaven,  unmanly  monk,  with  downcast  eyes, 
and  head  and  heart  bleached  in  the  cold  cloister,  secretly  exult 
ing  in  this  bigot  triumph. 

The  sound  of  the  bells  gave  notice  that  the  dismal  procession 
was  advancing.  It  passed  slowly  through  the  principal  streets  of 
the  city,  bearing  in  advance  the  awful  banner  of  the  holy  office. 
The  prisoners  walked  singly,  attended  by  confessors,  and  guarded 
by  familiars  of  the  inquisition.  They  were  clad  in  different  gar- 
ments  according  to  the  nature  of  their  punishments ;  those  who 
were  to  suffer  death  wore  the  hideous  Samarra,  painted  with 
flames  and  demons.  The  procession  was  swelled  by  choirs  of 

*  Rodd's  Civil  Wars  of  Grenada. 
10* 


226  BRACEBRLDGE   HALL. 

boys,  different  religious  orders,  and  public  dignitaries  ;  and,  above 
all,  by  the  fathers  of  the  faith,  moving  "  with  slow  pace,  and  pro 
found  gravity,  truly  triumphing  as  becomes  the  principal  generals 
of  that  great  victory."  * 

As  the  sacred  banner  of  the  inquisition  advanced,  the  count 
less  throng  sunk  on  their  knees  before  it ;  they  bowed  their  faces 
to  the  very  earth  as  it  passed,  and  then  slowly  rose  again,  like  a 
great  undulating  billow.  A  murmur  of  tongues  prevailed  as  the 
prisoners  approached,  and  eager  eyes  were  strained,  and  fingers 
pointed,  to  distinguish  the  different  orders  of  penitents,  Avhose 
habits  denoted  the  degree  of  punishment  they  were  to  undergo. 
But  as  those  drew  near  whose  frightful  garb  marked  them  as  des 
tined  to  the  flames,  the  noise  of  the  rabble  subsided ;  they  seemed 
almost  to  hold  in  their  breaths ;  filled  with  that  strange  and  dis 
mal  interest  with  which  we  contemplate  a  human  being  on  the 
verge  of  suffering  and  death. 

It  is  an  awful  thing — a  voiceless,  noiseless  multitude !  The 
hushed  and  gazing  stillness  of  the  surrounding  thousands,  heaped 
on  walls,  and  gates,  and  roofs,  and  hanging,  as  it  were,  in  clus 
ters,  heightened  the  effect  of  the  pageant  that  moved  drearily  on. 
The  low  murmuring  of  the  priests  could  now  be  heard  in  prayer 
and  exhortation,  with  the  faint  responses  of  the  prisoners,  and 
now  and  then  the  voices  of  the  choir  at  a  distance,  chanting  the 
litanies  of  the  saints. 

The  faces  of  the  prisoners  were  ghastly  and  disconsolate, 
i  Even  those  who  had  been  pardoned,  and  wore  the  Sanbenito,  or 
penitential  garment,  bore  traces  of  the  horrors  they  had  under 
gone.  Some  were  feeble  and  tottering  from  long  confinement ; 
some  crippled  and  distorted  by  various  tortures ;  every  counte- 

*  Gonsalvius,  p.  135. 


1^  •         V     1     r4    ' 

QJlUsUMAXm..  w  wVH  CTuK 


THE   STUDENT   OF   SALAMANCA.  227 

nance  was  a  dismal  page,  on  which  might  be  read  the  secrets  of 
their  prison-house.  But  in  the  looks  of  those  condemned  to  death 
there  was  something  fierce  and  eager.  They  seemed  men  harrowed 
up  by  the  past,  and  desperate  as  to  the  future.  They  were  antici 
pating,  with  spirits  fevered  by  despair,  and  fixed  and  clenched 
determination,  the  vehement  struggle  with  agony  and  death  they 
were  shortly  to  undergo.  Some  cast  now  and  then  a  wild  and 
anguished  look  about  them  upon  the  shining  day ;  the  "  sun-bright 
palaces,"  the  gay,  the  beautiful  world,  which  they  were  soon  to 
quit  for  ever ;  or  a  glance  of  sudden  indignation  at  the  thronging 
thousands,  happy  in  liberty  and  life,  who  seemed,  in  contemplating 
their  frightful  situation,  to  exult  in  their  own  comparative  security. 

One  among  the  condemned,  however,  was  an  exception  to 
these  remarks.  It  was  an  aged  man,  somewhat  bowed  down, 
with  a  serene,  though  dejected  countenance,  and  a  beaming,  mel 
ancholy  eye.  It  was  the  alchemist.  The  populace  looked  upon 
him  with  a  degree  of  compassion,  which  they  were  not  prone  to 
feel  towards  criminals  condemned  by  the  inquisition ;  but  when 
they  were  told  that  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of  magic,  they 
drew  back  with  awe  and  abhorrence. 

The  procession  had  reached  the  grand  square.  The  first  part 
had  already  mounted  the  scaffolding,  and  the  condemned  were 
approaching.  The  press  of  the  populace  became  excessive,  and 
was  repelled,  as  it  were,  in  billows  by  the  guards.  Just  as  the 
condemned  were  entering  the  square,  a  shrieking  was  heard 
among  the  crowd.  A  female,  pale,  frantic,  dishevelled,  was  seen 
struggling  through  the  multitude.  "My  father!  my  father!" 
was  all  the  cry  she  uttered,  but  it  thrilled  through  every  heart. 
The  crowd  instinctively  drew  back,  and  made  way  for  her  as  she 
advanced. 


228  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

The  poor  alchemist  had  made  his  peace  with  Heaven,  and,  by 
hard  struggle,  had  closed  his  heart  upon  the  world,  when  the 
voice  of  his  child  called  him  once  more  back  to  worldly  thought 
and  agony.  He  turned  towards  the  well-known  voice ;  his  knees 
smote  together ;  he  endeavored  to  reach  forth  his  pinioned  arms, 
and  felt  himself  clasped  in  the  embraces  of  his  child.  The  emo 
tions  of  both  were  too  agonizing  for  utterance.  Convulsive  sobs, 
and  broken  exclamations,  and  embraces  more  of  anguish  than 
tenderness,  were  all  that  passed  between  them.  The  procession 
was  interrupted  for  a  moment.  The  astonished  monks  and  famil 
iars  were  filled  with  involuntary  respect  at  this  agony  of  natural 
affection.  Ejaculations  of  pity  broke  from  the  crowd,  touched  by 
the  filial  pity,  the  extraordinary  and  hopeless  anguish  of  so  young 
and  beautiful  a  being. 

Every  attempt  to  soothe  her,  and  prevail  on  her  to  retire,  was 
unheeded ;  at  length  they  endeavored  to  separate  her  from  her 
father  by  force.  The  movement  roused  her  from  her  temporary 
abandonment.  With  a  sudden  paroxysm  of  fury,  she  snatched  a 
sword  from  one  of  the  familiars.  Her  late  pale  countenance  was 
flushed  with  rage,  and  fire  flashed  from  her  once  soft  and  lan 
guishing  eyes.  The  guards  shrunk  back  with  awe.  There  was 
something  in  this  filial  frenzy,  this  feminine  tenderness  wrought 
up  to  desperation,  that  touched  even  their  hardened  hearts.  They 
endeavored  to  pacify  her,  but  in  vain.  Her  eye  was  eager  and 
quick  as  the  she-wolf's  guarding  her  young.  With  one  arm  she 
pressed  her  father  to  her  bosom,  with  the  other  she  menaced  every 
one  that  approached. 

The  patience  of  the  guards  was  soon  exhausted.  They  had 
held  back  in  awe,  but  not  in  fear.  With  all  her  desperation  the 
weapon  was  soon  wrested  from  her  feeble  hand,  and  she  was 


THE    STUDENT   OP   SAIAMAKCA.  229 

borne  shrieking  and  struggling  among  the  crowd.  The  rabble 
murmured  compassion ;  but  such  was  the  dread  inspired  by  the 
inquisition,  that  no  one  attempted  to  interfere. 

The  procession  again  resumed  its  march.  Inez  was  ineffectu 
ally  struggling  to  release  herself  from  the  hands  of  the  familiars 
that  detained  her,  when  suddenly  she  saw  Don  Ambrosio  before 
her.  "  Wretched  girl !  "  exclaimed  he  with  fury,  "  why  have  you 
fled  from  your  friends  ?  Deliver  her,"  said  he  to  the  familiars, 
"  to  my  domestics  ;  she  is  under  my  protection." 

His  creatures  advanced  to  seize  her.  "  Oh  no !  oh  no ! "  cried 
she,  with  new  terrors,  and  clinging  to  the  familiars,  "  I  have  fled 
from  no  friends.  He  is  not  my  protector !  He  is  the  murderer 
of  my  father !  " 

The  familiars  were  perplexed ;  the  crowd  pressed  on  with 
eager  curiosity.  "  Stand  off!  "  cried  the  fiery  Ambrosio,  dashing 
the  throng  from  around  him.  Then  turning  to  the  familiars,  with 
sudden  moderation,  "  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  deliver  this  poor 
girl  to  me.  Her  distress  has  turned  her  brain ;  she  has  escaped 
from  her  friends  and  protectors  this  morning ;  but  a  little  quiet 
and  kind  treatment  will  restore  her  to  tranquillity." 

"  I  am  not  mad !  I  am  not  mad ! "  cried  she,  vehemently. 
"  Oh,  save  me ! — save  me  from  these  men  !  I  have  no  protector 
on  earth  but  my  father,  and  him  they  are  murdering !  " 

The  familiars  shook  their  heads  ;  her  wildness  corroborated 
the  assertions  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and  his  apparent  rank  com 
manded  respect  and  belief.  They  relinquished  their  charge  to 
him,  and  he  was  consigning  the  struggling  Inez  to  his  creatures — 

"  Let  go  your  hold,  villain  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  among  the 
crowd,  and  Antonio  was  seen  eagerly  tearing  his  way  through  the 
press  of  people. 


230  BRACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

"  Seize  him !  seize  him !  "  cried  Don  Ambrosio  to  the  famil 
iars  ;  "  'tis  an  accomplice  of  the  sorcerer's." 

"  Liar ! "  retorted  Antonio,  as  he  thrust  the  mob  to  the  right 
and  left,  and  forced  himself  to  the  spot. 

The  sword  of  Don  Ambrosio  flashed  in  an  instant  from  the 
scabbard ;  the  student  was  armed,  and  equally  alert.  There  was 
a  fierce  clash  of  weapons ;  the  crowd  made  way  for  them  as  they 
fought,  and  closed  again,  so  as  to  hide  them  from  the  view  of 
Inez.  All  was  tumult  and  confusion  for  a  moment ;  when  there 
was  a  kind  of  shout  from  the  spectators,  and  the  mob  again  open 
ing,  she  beheld,  as  she  thought,  Antonio  weltering  in  his  blood. 

This  new  shock  was  too  great  for  her  already  overstrained 
intellects.  A  giddiness  seized  upon  her ;  every  thing  seemed  to 
whirl  before  her  eyes ;  she  gasped  some  incoherent  words,  and 
sunk  senseless  upon  the  ground. 

Days,  weeks,  elapsed  before  Inez  returned  to  consciousness. 
At  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  as  if  out  of  a  troubled  sleep. 
She  Avas  lying  upon  a  magnificent  bed,  in  a  chamber  richly  fur 
nished  with  pier-glasses  and  massive  tables  inlaid  with  silver,  of 
exquisite  workmanship.  The  walls  were  covered  with  tapestry  ; 
the  cornices  richly  gilded :  through  the  door,  which  stood  open, 
she  perceived  a  superb  saloon,  with  statues  and  crystal  lustres, 
and  a  magnificent  suit  of  apartments  beyond.  The  casements  of 
the  room  were  open  to  admit  the  soft  breath  of  summer,  which 
stole  in,  laden  with  perfumes  from  a  neighboring  garden  ;  whence, 
also,  the  refreshing  sound  of  fountains  and  the  sweet  notes  of 
birds  came  in  mingled  music  to  her  ear. 

Female  attendants  were  moving,  with  noiseless  step,  about 
the  chamber ;  but  she  feared  to  address  them.  She  doubted 
whether  this  were  not  all  delusion,  or  whether  she  was  not  still  in 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  231 

the  palace  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and  that  her  escape,  and  all  its  cir 
cumstances,  had  not  been  but  a  feverish  dream.  She  closed  her 
eyes  again,  endeavoring  to  recall  the  past,  and  to  separate  the 
real  from  the  imaginary.  The  last  scenes  of  consciousness,  how 
ever,  rushed  too  forcibly,  with  all  their  horrors,  to  her  mind  to  be 
doubted,  and  she  turned  shuddering  from  the  recollection,  to  gaze 
once  more  on  the  quiet  and  serene  magnificence  around  her.  As 
she  again  opened  her  eyes,  they  rested  on  an  object  that  at  once 
dispelled  every  alarm.  At  the  head  of  her  bed  sat  a  venerable 
form  watching  over  her  with  a  look  of  fond  anxiety — it  was  her 
father ! 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  ensued ;  nor  the 
moments  of  rapture  which  more  than  repaid  all  the  sufferings  her 
affectionate  heart  had  undergone.  As  soon  as  their  feelings  had 
become  more  calm,  the  alchemist  stepped  out  of  the  room  to  in 
troduce  a  stranger,  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  his  life  and  lib 
erty.  He  returned,  leading  in  Antonio,  no  longer  in  his  poor 
scholar's  garb,  but  in  the  rich  dress  of  a  nobleman. 

The  feelings  of  Inez  were  almost  overpowered  by  these 
sudden  reverses,  and  it  was  some  time  before  she  was  suffi 
ciently  composed  to  comprehend  the  explanation  of  this  seeming 
romance. 

It  appeared  that  the  lover,  who  had  sought  her  affections  in 
the  lowly  guise  of  a  student,  was  only  son  and  heir  of  a  powerful 
grandee  of  Valencia.  He  had  been  placed  at  the  university  of 
Salamanca ;  but  a  lively  curiosity,  and  an  eagerness  for  adven 
ture,  had  induced  him  to  abandon  the  university,  without  his 
father's  consent,  and  to  visit  various  parts  of  Spain.  His  ram 
bling  inclination  satisfied,  he  had  remained  incognito  for  a  time 
at  Grenada,  until,  by  farther  study  and  self-regulation,  he  could 


232  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

prepare  himself  to  return  home  with  credit,  and  atone  for  his 
transgressions  against  paternal  authority. 

How  hard  he  had  studied  does  not  remain  on  record.  All 
that  we  know  is  his  romantic  adventure  of  the  tower.  It  was  at 
first  a  mere  youthful  caprice,  excited  by  a  glimpse  of  a  beautiful 
face.  In  becoming  a  disciple  of  the  alchemist,  he  probably 
thought  of  nothing  more  than  pursuing  a  light  love  affair.  Farther 
acquaintance,  however,  had  completely  fixed  his  affections ;  and  he 
had  determined  to  conduct  Inez  and  her  father  to  Valencia,  and 
to  trust  to  her  merits  to  secure  his  father's  consent  to  their  union. 

In  the  meantime  he  had  been  traced  to  his  concealment.  His 
father  had  received  intelligence  of  his  being  entangled  in  the 
snares  of  a  mysterious  adventurer  and  his  daughter,  and  likely  to 
become  the  dupe  of  the  fascinations  of  the  latter.  Trusty  emis 
saries  had  been  dispatched  to  seize  upon  him  by  main  force,  and 
convey  him  without  delay  to  the  paternal  home. 

What  eloquence  he  had  used  with  his  father  to  convince  him  of 
the  innocence,  the  honor,  and  the  high  descent  of  the  alchemist,  and 
of  the  exalted  worth  of  his  daughter,  does  not  appear.  All  that  we 
know  is,  that  the  father,  though  a  very  passionate,  was  a  very  rea 
sonable  man,  as  appears  by  his  consenting  that  his  son  should  return 
to  Grenada,  and  conduct  Inez,  as  his  affianced  bride,  to  Valencia. 

Away,  then,  Don  Antonio  hurried  back,  full  of  joyous  anti 
cipations.  He  still  forbore  to  throw  off  his  disguise,  fondly  pic 
turing  to  himself  what  would  be  the  surprise  of  Inez,  when,  hav 
ing  won  her  heart  and  hand  as  a  poor  wandering  scholar,  he 
should  raise  her  and  her  father  at  once  to  opulence  and  splendor. 

On  his  arrival  he  had  been  shocked  at  finding  the  tower 
deserted  of  its  inhabitants.  In  vain  lie  sought  for  intelligence 
concerning  them;  a  mystery  hung  over  their  disappearance 


THE   STUDKNT   OF   SALAMANCA.  233 

which  he  could  not  penetrate,  until  he  was  thunderstruck,  on 
accidentally  reading  a  list  of  the  prisoners  at  the  impending  auto 
da  fe,  to  find  the  name  of  his  venerable  master  among  the  con 
demned. 

It  was  the  very  morning  of  the  execution.  The  procession 
was  already  on  its  way  to  the  grand  square.  Not  a  moment  was 
to  be  lost.  The  grand  inquisitor  Avas  a  relation  of  Don  Antonio, 
though  they  had  never  met.  His  first  impulse  was  to  make  him 
self  known ;  to  exert  all  his  family  influence,  the  weight  of  his 
name,  and  the  power  of  his  eloquence,  in  vindication  of  the  alche 
mist.  But  the  grand  inquisitor  was  already  proceeding,  in  all 
his  pomp,  to  the  place  where  the  fatal  ceremony  was  to  be  per 
formed.  How  was  he  to  be  approached  ?  Antonio  threw  himself 
into  the  crowd,  in  a  fever  of  anxiety,  and  was  forcing  his  way  to 
the  scene  of  horror,  where  he  arrived  just  in  time  to  rescue  Inez, 
as  has  been  mentioned. 

It  was  Don  Ambrosio  that  fell  in  the  contest.  Being  despe 
rately  wounded,  and  thinking  his  end  approaching,  he  had  con 
fessed,  to  an  attending  father  of  the  inquisition,  that  he  was  the 
sole  cause  of  the  alchemist's  condemnation,  and  that  the  evidence 
on  which  it  was  grounded  was  altogether  false.  The  testimony  of 
Don  Antonio  came  in  corroboration  of  this  avowal ;  and  his  rela 
tionship  to  the  grand  inquisitor  had,  in  all  probability,  its  proper 
weight.  Thus  was  'the  poor  alchemist  snatched,  in  a  manner, 
from  the  very  flames  ;  and  so  great  had  been  the  sympathy  awak 
ened  in  his  case,  that  for  once  a  populace  rejoiced  at  being  disap 
pointed  of  an  execution. 

The  residue  of  the  story  may  readily  be  imagined  by  every 
one  versed  in  this  valuable  kind  of  history.  Don  Antonio  es 
poused  the  lovely  Inez,  and  took  her  and  her  father  with  him  to 


234  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Valencia.  As  she  had  been  a  loving  and  dutiful  daughter,  so  she 
proved  a  true  and  tender  wife.  It  was  not  long  before  Don  An 
tonio  succeeded  to  his  father's  titles  and  estates,  and  he  and  his 
fair  spouse  were  renowned  for  being  the  handsomest  and  happiest 
couple  in  all  Valencia. 

As  to  Don  Ambrosio,  he  partially  recovered  to  the  enjoyment 
of  a  broken  constitution  and  a  blasted  name,  and  hid  his  remorse 
and  disgraces  in  a  convent ;  while  the  poor  victim  of  his  arts,  who 
had  assisted  Inez  in  her  escape,  unable  to  conquer  the  early  pas 
sion  that  he  had  awakened  in  her  bosom,  though  convinced  of  the 
baseness  of  the  object,  retired  from  the  world,  and  became  a  hum 
ble  sister  in  a  nunnery. 

The  worthy  alchemist  took  up  his  abode  with  his  children. 
A  pavilion,  in  the  garden  of  their  palace,  was  assigned  to  him  as 
a  laboratory,  where  he  resumed  his  researches,  with  renovated 
ardor,  after  the  grand  secret.  He  was  now  and  then  assisted  by 
his  son-in-law ;  but  the  latter  slackened  grievously  in  his  zeal 
and  diligence  after  marriage.  Still  he  would  listen  with  profound 
gravity  and  attention  to  the  old  man's  rhapsodies,  and  his  quota 
tions  from  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius,  and  Pietro  D'Abano,  which 
daily  grew  longer  and  longer.  In  this  way  the  good  alchemist 
lived  on  quietly  and  comfortably,  to  what  is  called  a  good  old  age, 
that  is  to  say,  an  age  that  is  good  for  nothing,  and,  unfortunately 
for  mankind,  was  hurried  out  of  life  in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as 
he  was  on  the  point  of  discovering  the  philosopher's  stone. 


Such  was  the  story  of  the  captain's  friend,  with  which  we 
whiled  away  the  morning.  The  captain  was,  every  now  and  then, 
interrupted  by  questions  and  remarks,  whL-h  I  have  not  men- 


THE  STUDENT  OP  SALAMANCA.  235 

tioned,  lest  I  should  break  the  continuity  of  the  tale.  He  was  a 
little  disturbed,  also,  once  or  twice,  by  the  general,  Avho  fell 
asleep,  and  breathed  rather  hard,  to  the  great  horror  and  annoy 
ance  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  In  a  long  and  tender  love  scene,  also, 
which  was  particularly  to  her  ladyship's  taste,  the  unlucky  gene 
ral,  having  his  head  a  little  sunk  upon  his  breast,  kept  making  a 
sound  at  regular  intervals,  very  much  like  the  word  pish,  long 
drawn  out.  At  length  he  made  an  odd,  abrupt,  guttural  sound, 
that  suddenly  awoke  him ;  he  hemmed,  looked  about  with  a 
slight  degree  of  consternation,  and  then  began  to  play  with  her 
ladyship's  Avork-bag,  which,  however,  she  rather  pettishly  with 
drew.  The  steady  sound  of  the  captain's  voice  was  still  too 
potent  a  soporific  for  the  poor  general ;  he  kept  gleaming  up  and 
sinking  in  the  socket,  until  the  cessation  of  the  tale  again  roused 
him,  when  he  started  awake,  put  his  foot  down  upon  Lady  Lilly- 
craft's  cur,  the  sleeping  Beauty,  which  yelped,  seized  him  by  the 
leg,  and,  in  a  moment,  the  whole  library  resounded  with  yelpings 
and  exclamations.  Never  did  a  man  more  completely  mar  his 
fortunes  while  he  was  asleep.  Silence  being  at  length  restored, 
the  company  expressed  their  thanks  to  the  captain,  and  gave  va 
rious  opinions  of  the  story.  The  parson's  mind,  I  found,  had 
been  continually  running  upon  the  leaden  manuscripts,  mentioned 
in  the  beginning,  as  dug  up  at  Grenada,  and  he  put  several  eager 
questions  to  the  captain  on  the  subject.  The  general  could  not 
well  make  out  the  drift  of  the  story,  but  thought  it  a  little  con 
fused.  "  I  am  glad,  however,"  said  he,  "  that  they  burnt  the  old 
chap  in  the  tower ;  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  a  notorious  im 
postor." 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN. 

His  certain  life  that  never  can  deceive  him, 

Is  full  of  thousand  sweets,  and  rich  content: 
The  smooth-leaved  beeches  in  the  field  receive  him 

With  coolest  shade,  till  noontide's  heat  be  spent. 
His  life  is  neither  tost  in  boisterous  seas 

Or  the  A'exatious  world ;  or  lost  in  slothful  ease. 
Pleased  and  full  blest  he  lives  when  he  his  God  can  please. 

PHINEAS  FLETCHER. 

I  TAKE  great  pleasure  in  accompanying  the  Squire  in  his  peram 
bulations  about  his  estate,  in  which  he  is  often  attended  by  a  kind 
of  cabinet  council.  His  prime  minister,  the  steward,  is  a  very 
worthy  and  honest  old  man,  who  assumes  a  right  of  way ;  that  is 
to  say,  a  right  to  have  his  own  way,  from  having  lived  time  out 
of  mind  on  the  place.  He  loves  the  estate  even  better  than  he 
does  the  Squire ;  and  thwarts  the  latter  sadly  in  many  of  his  pro 
jects  of  improvement,  being  a  little  prone  to  disapprove  of  every 
plan  that  does  not  originate  with  himself. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  these  perambulations,  I  have  known 
the  Squire  to  point  out  some  important  alteration  which  he  was 
contemplating,  in  the  disposition  or  cultivation  of  the  grounds ; 
this  of  course  would  be  opposed  by  the  steward,  and  a  long  argu 
ment  would  ensue  over  a  stile,  or  on  a  rising  piece  of  ground, 
until  the  Squire,  who  has  a  high  opinion  of  the  other's  ability  and 


ENGLISH    COUNTRY    GENTLEMEN.  237 

integrity,  would  be  fain  to  give  up  the  point.  This  concession, 
I  observed,  would  immediately  mollify  the  old  man,  and,  after 
walking  over  a  field  or  two  in  silence,  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  chewing  the  cud  of  reflection,  he  would  suddenly  turn  to 
the  Squire,  and  observe,  that  "  he  had  been  turning  the  matter 
over  in  his  mind,  and,  upon  the  whole,  he  believed  he  would  take 
his  honor's  advice."  * 

Christy,  the  huntsman,  is  another  of  the  Squire's  occasional 
attendants,  to  whom  he  continually  refers  in  all  matters  of  local 
history,  as  to  a  chronicle  of  the  estate,  having,  in  a  manner,  been 
acquainted  with  many  of  the  trees,  from  the  very  time  that  they 
were  acorns.  Old  Nimrod,  as  has  been  shown,  is  rather  prag 
matical  in  those  points  of  knowledge  on  which  he  values  himself ; 
but  the  Squire  rarely  contradicts  him,  and  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the 
most  indulgent  potentates  that  was  ever  hen-pecked  by  his  min 
istry. 

He  often  laughs  about  it  himself,  and  evidently  yields  to  these 
old  men  more  from  the  bent  of  his  own  humor  than  from  any 
want  of  proper  authority.  He  likes  this  honest  independence  of 
old  age,  and  is  well  aware  that  these  trusty  followers  love  and 
honor  him  in  their  hearts.  He  is  perfectly  at  ease  about  his  own 
dignity  and  the  respect  of  those  around  him ;  nothing  disgusts 
bun  sooner  than  any  appearance  of  fawning  or  sycophancy. 

I  really  have  seen  no  display  of  royal  state  that  could  com- 

*  The  reader  who  has  perused  a  little  work  published  by  the  author  several 
years  subsequently  to  Bracebridge  Hall,  narrating  a  visit  to  Abbotsford,  will  de 
tect  the  origin  of  the  above  anecdote  in  the  conferences  between  Sir  Walter  Scott 
and  his  right-hand  man,  Tommy  Purdie.  Indeed,  the  author  is  indebted  for 
several  of  his  traits  of  the  Squire  to  observations  made  on  Sir  Walter  Scott 
during  that  visit ;  though  he  had  to  be  cautious  and  sparing  in  drawing  from 
that  source. 


238  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

pare  with  one  of  the  Squire's  progresses  about  his  paternal  fields 
and  through  his  hereditary  woodlands,  with  several  of  these  faith 
ful  adherents  about  him,  and  followed  by  a  body-guard  of  dogs. 
He  encourages  a  frankness  and  manliness  of  deportment  among 
his  dependents,  and  is  the  personal  friend  of  his  tenants ;  inquir 
ing  into  their  concerns,  and  assisting  them  in  times  of  difficulty 
and  hardship.  This  has  rendered  him  one  of  the  most  popular, 
and  of  course  one  of  the  happiest  of  landlords. 

Indeed,  I  do  not  know  a  more  enviable  condition  of  life,  than 
that  of  an  English  gentleman,  of  sound  judgment  and  good  feel 
ings,  who  passes  the  greater  part  of  his  time  on  an  hereditary 
estate  in  the  country.  From  the  excellence  of  the  roads  and  the 
rapidity  and  exactness  of  public  conveyances,  he  is  enabled  to 
command  all  the  comforts  and  conveniences,  all  the  intelligence 
and  novelties  of  the  capital,  while  he  is  removed  from  its  hurry 
and  distraction.  He  has  ample  means  of  occupation  and  amuse 
ment  within  his  own  domains  ;  he  may  diversify  his  time  by  rural 
occupations,  by  rural  sports,  by  study,  and  by  the  delights  of 
friendly  society  collected  within  his  own  hospitable  halls. 

Or  if  his  views  and  feelings  are  of  a  more  extensive  and  lib 
eral  nature,  he  has  it  greatly  in  his  power  to  do  good,  and  to 
have  that  good  immediately  reflected  back  upon  himself.  He  can 
render  essential  services  to  his  country,  by  assisting  in  the  disin 
terested  administration  of  the  laws ;  by  watching  over  the  opin 
ions  and  principles  of  the  lower  orders  around  him ;  by  diffusing 
among  them  those  lights  important  to  their  welfare ;  by  mingling 
frankly  among  them,  gaining  their  confidence,  becoming  the  im 
mediate  auditor  of  their  complaints,  informing  himself  of  their 
wants,  making  himself  a  channel  through  which  their  grievances 
may  be  quietly  communicated  to  the  proper  sources  of  mitigation 


ENGLISH   COUNTRY   GENTLEMEN.  239 

and  relief;  or  by  becoming,  if  need  be,  the  intrepid  and  incorrup 
tible  guardian  of  their  liberties — the  enlightened  champion  of 
their  rights. 

All  this  can  be  done  without  any  sacrifice  of  personal  dignity, 
without  any  degrading  arts  of  popularity,  without  any  truckling . 
to  vulgar  prejudices  or  concurrence  in  vulgar  clamor ;  but  by  the 
steady  influence  of  sincere  and  friendly  counsel,  of  fair,  upright, 
and  generous  deportment.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  English 
mobs  and  English  demagogues,  I  have  never  met  with  a  people 
more  open  to  reason,  more  considerate  in  their  tempers,  more 
tractable  by  argument  in  the  roughest  times,  than  the  English. 
They  are  remarkably  quick  at  discerning  and  appreciating  what 
ever  is  manly  and  honorable.  They  are  by  nature  and  habit 
methodical  and  orderly ;  and  they  feel  the  value  of  all  that  is 
regular  and  respectable.  They  may  occasionally  be  deceived  by 
sophistry,  and  excited  into  turbulence  by  public  distresses  and 
the  misrepresentations  of  designing  men;  but  open  their  eyes, 
and  they  will  eventually  rally  round  the  landmarks  of  steady  truth 
and  deliberate  good  sense.  They  are  fond  of  established  customs 
and  long-established  names ;  and  that  love  of  order  and  quiet 
which  characterizes  the  nation,  gives  a  vast  influence  to  the  de 
scendants  of  the  old  families,  whose  forefathers  have  been  lords 
of  the  soil  from  time  immemorial. 

It  is  when  the  rich  and  well-educated  and  highly-privileged 
classes  neglect  their  duties,  when  they  neglect  to  study  the  inter 
ests,  and  conciliate  the  affections,  and  instruct  the  opinions  and 
champion  the  rights  of  the  people,  that  the  latter  become  discon 
tented  and  turbulent,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  demagogues  :  the 
demagogue  always  steps  in  where  the  patriot  is  wanting.  There 
is  a  common  high-handed  cant  among  the  high-feeding,  and,  as 


240  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

they  fancy  themselves,  high-minded  men,  about  putting  down  the 
mob ;  but  all  true  physicians  know  that  it  is  better  to  sweeten  the 
blood  than  attack  the  tumor ;  to  apply  the  emollient  rather  than 
the  cautery.  It  is  absurd  in  a  country  like  England,  where  there 
is  so  much  freedom,  and  such  a  jealousy  of  right,  for  any  man  to 
assume  an  aristocratical  tone,  and  talk  superciliously  of  the  com 
mon  people.  There  is  no  rank  that  makes  him  independent  of 
the  opinions  and  affections  of  his  fellow-men,  there  is  no  rank  nor 
distinction  that  severs  him  from  his  fellow-subjects ;  and  if,  by 
any  gradual  neglect  or  assumption  on  the  one  side,  and  discontent 
and  jealousy  on  the  other,  the  orders  of  society  should  really  sepa 
rate,  let  those  who  stand  on  the  eminence  beware  that  the  chasm  is 
not  mining  at  their  feet.  The  orders  of  society  in  all  well-constitu 
ted  governments  are  mutually  bound  together,  and  important  to 
each  other ;  there  can  be  no  such  thing  in  a  free  government  as  a 
vacuum ;  and  whenever  one  is  likely  to  take  place,  by  the  drawing 
off  of  the  rich  and  intelligent  from  the  poor,  the  bad  passions  of  so 
ciety  will  rush  in  to  fill  up  the  space,  and  rend  the  whole  asunder. 
Though  born  and  brought  up  in  a  republic,  and  more  and 
more  confirmed  in  republican  principles  by  every  year's  observa 
tion  and  experience,  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  excellence  that 
may  exist  in  other  forms  of  government ;  nor  to  the  fact  that  they 
may  be  more  suitable  to  the  situation  and  circumstances  of  the 
countries  in  which  they  exist ;  I  have  endeavored  rather  to  look 
at  them  as  they  are,  and  to  observe  how  they  are  calculated  to 
effect  the  end'  which  they  propose.  Considering,  therefore,  the 
mixed  nature  of  the  government  of  this  country,  and  its  repre 
sentative  form,  I  have  looked  with  admiration  at  the  manner  in 
which  the  wealth  and  influence  and  intelligence  were  spread  over 
its  whole  surface ;  not  as  in  some  monarchies,  drained  from  the 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GKNTLEHEN.  241 

country,  and  collected  in  towns  and  cities.  I  have  considered 
the  great  rural  establishments  of  the  nobility,  and  the  lesser  es 
tablishments  of  the  gentry,  as  so  many  reservoirs  of  wealth  and 
intelligence  distributed  about  the  kingdom,  apart  from  the  towns, 
to  irrigate,  freshen,  and  fertilize  the  surrounding  country.  I  have 
looked  upon  them,  too,  as  the  august  retreat  of  patriots  and 
statesmen,  -where,  in  the  enjoyment  of  honorable  independence 
and  elegant  leisure,  they  might  train  up  their  minds  to  appear  in 
those  legislative  assemblies,  whose  debates  and  decisions  form  the 
study  and  precedents  of  other  nations,  and  involve  the  interests 
of  the  world. 

I  have  been  both  surprised  and  disappointed,  therefore,  at 
finding,  that  on  this  subject  I  was  often  indulging  in  an  Utopian 
dream,  rather  than  a  well-founded  opinion.  I  have  been  con 
cerned  at  finding  that  these  fine  estates  were  too  often  involved, 
and  mortgaged,  or  placed  in  the  hands  of  creditors,  and  the  own 
ers  exiled  from  their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  extravagance, 
I  am  told,  that  runs  parallel  Avith  wealth ;  a  lavish  expenditure 
among  the  great ;  a  senseless  competition  among  the  aspiring ; 
a  heedless,  joyous  dissipation,  among  all  the  upper  ranks,  that 
often  beggars  even  these  splendid  establishments ;  breaks  down 
the  pride  and  principles  of  their  possessors,  and  makes  too  many 
of  them  mere  place-hunters,  or  shifting  absentees.  It  is  thus 
that  so  many  are  thrown  into  the  hands  of  government ;  and  a 
court  which  ought  to  be  the  most  pure  and  honorable  in  Europe, 
is  so  often  degraded  by  noble,  but  importunate  time-servers.  It 
is  thus,  too,  that  so  many  become  exiles  from  their  native  land, 
crowding  the  hotels  of  foreign  countries,  and  expending  upon 
thankless  strangers  the  wealth  so  hardly  drained  from  their  labo 
rious  peasantry.  I  have  looked  upon  these  latter  with  a  mixture 
11 


242  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

of  censure  and  concern.  Knowing  the  almost  bigoted  fondness 
of  an  Englishman  for  his  native  home,  I  can  conceive  what  must 
be  their  compunction  and  regret,  when,  amidst  the  sun-burnt 
plains  of  France,  they  call  to  mind  the  green  fields  of  England ; 
the  hereditary  groves  which  they  have  abandoned,  and  the  hospi 
table  roof  of  their  fathers,  which  they  have  left  desolate,  or  to  be 
inhabited  by  strangers.  But  retrenchment  is  no  plea  for  aban 
donment  of  country.  They  have  risen  with  the  prosperity  of  the 
land ;  let  them  abide  its  fluctuations,  and  conform  to  its  fortunes. 
It  is  not  for  the  rich  to  fly  because  the  country  is  suffering :  let 
them  share,  in  their  relative  proportion,  the  common  lot ;  they 
owe  it  to  the  land  that  has  elevated  them  to  honor  and  affluence. 
When  the  poor  have  to  diminish  their  scanty  morsels  of  bread ; 
when  they  have  to  compound  with  the  cravings  of  nature,  and 
study  with  how  little  they  can  do,  and  not  be  starved ;  it  is  not 
then  for  the  rich  to  fly,  and  diminish  still  farther  the  resources  of 
the  poor,  that  they  themselves  may  live  in  splendor  in  a  cheaper 
country.  Let  them  rather  retire  to  their  estates,  and  there  prac 
tise  retrenchment.  Let  them  return  to  that  noble  simplicity,  that 
practical  good  sense,  that  honest  pride,  which  form  the  foundation 
of  true  English  character,  and  from  them  they  may  again  rear 
the  edifice  of  fair  and  honorable  prosperity. 

On  the  rural  habits  of  the  English  nobility  and  gentry,  on 
the  manner  in  which  they  discharge  their  duties  on  their  patrimo 
nial  possessions,  depend  greatly  the  virtue  and  welfare  of  the  na 
tion.  So  long  as  they  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in  the 
quiet  and  purity  of  the  country ;  surrounded  by  the  monuments 
of  their  illustrious  ancestors ;  surrounded  by  every  thing  that  can 
inspire  generous  pride,  noble  emulation,  and  amiable  and  mag 
nanimous  sentiment ;  so  long  they  are  safe,  and  in  them  the  na- 


ENGLISH  COUNTEY  GEXTLEMEX.  243 

tion  may  repose  its  interest  and  its  honor.  But  the  moment  that 
they  become  the  servile  throngers  of  court  avenues,  and  give 
themselves  up  to  the  political  intrigues  and  heartless  dissipations 
of  the  metropolis,  that  moment  they  lose  the  real  nobility  of  their 
natures,  and  become  the  mere  leeches  of  the  country. 

That  the  great  majority  of  nobility  and  gentry  in  England 
are  endowed  with  high  notions  of  honor  and  independence,  I  thor 
oughly  believe.  They  have  evidenced  it  lately  on  very  impor 
tant  questions,  and  have  given  an  example  of  adherence  to  prin 
ciple,  in  preference  to  party  and  power,  that  must  have  astonished 
many  of  the  venal  and  obsequious  courts  of  Europe.  Such  are 
the  glorious  effects  of  freedom,  when  infused  into  a  constitution. 
But  it  seems  to  me  that  they  are  apt  to  forget  the  positive  nature 
of  their  duties,  and  to  consider  their  eminent  privileges  only  as 
so  many  means  of  self-indulgence.  They  should  recollect,  that 
in  a  constitution  like  that  of  England,  the  titled  orders  are  in 
tended  to  be  as  useful  as  they  are  ornamental,  and  it  is  their  vir 
tues  alone  that  can  render  them  both.  Their  duties  are  divided 
between  the  sovereign  and  the  subjects  ;  surrounding  and  giving 
lustre  and  dignity  to  the  throne,  and  at  the  same  time  tempering 
and  mitigating  its  rays,  until  they  are  transmitted  in  mild  and 
genial  radiance  to  the  people.  Born  to  leisure  and  opulence, 
they  owe  the  exercise  of  their  talents,  and  the  expenditure  of 
their  wealth,  to  their  native  country.  They  may  be  compared  to 
the  clouds ;  which,  being  drawn  up  by  the  sun,  and  elevated  in 
the  heavens,  reflect  and  magnify  his  splendor ;  while  they  repay 
the  earth,  whence  they  derive  their  sustenance,  by  returning  their 
treasures  to  its  bosom  in  fertilizing  showers. 


A  BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS. 


'  I'll  live  a  private,  pensive,  single  life." 

THE  COLLIER  or  CKOTDON. 


I  WAS  sitting  in  my  room,  a  morning  or  two  since,  reading,  when 
some  one  tapped  at  the  door,  and  Master  Simon  entered.  He 
had  an  unusually  fresh  appearance;  he  wore  a  bright  green 
riding-coat,  with  a  bunch  of  violets  in  the  button-hole,  and  had 
the  air  of  an  old  bachelor  trying  to  rejuvenate  himself.  He  had 
not,  however,  his  usual  briskness  and  vivacity ;  but  loitered  about 
the  room  with  somewhat  of  absence  of  manner,  humming  the  old 
song, — "  Go,  lovely  rose,  tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me ; " 
and  then,  leaning  against  the  window,  and  looking  upon  the  land 
scape,  he  uttered  a  very  audible  sigh.  As  I  had  not  been  accus 
tomed  to  see  Master  Simon  in  a  pensive  mood,  I  thought  there 
might  be  some  vexation  preying  on  his  mind,  and  endeavored 
to  introduce  a  cheerful  strain  of  conversation ;  but  he  was  not  in 
the  vein  to  follow  it  up,  and  proposed  a  walk. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  of  that  soft  vernal  temperature, 
which  seems  to  thaw  all  the  frost  out  of  one's  blood,  and  set  all 
nature  in  a  ferment.  The  very  fishes  felt  its  influence ;  the  cau 
tious  trout  ventured  out  of  his  dark  hole  to  seek  his  mate ;  the 


A   BACHELOR'S   CONFESSIONS.  245 

roach  and  the  dace  rose  up  to  the  surface  of  the  brook  to  bask  in 
the  sunshine,  and  the  amorous  frog  piped  from  among  the  rushes. 
If  ever  an  oyster  can  really  fall  in  love,  as  has  been  said  or  sung, 
it  must  be  on  such  a  morning. 

The  weather  certainly  had  its  effect  upon  Master  Simon,  for 
he  seemed  obstinately  bent  upon  the  pensive  mood.  Instead  of 
stepping  briskly  along,  smacking  his  dog- whip,  whistling  quaint 
ditties,  or  telling  sporting  anecdotes,  he  leaned  on  my  arm,  and 
talked  about  the  approaching  nuptials,  whence  he  made  several 
digressions  upon  the  character  of  womankind ;  touched  a  little 
upon  the  tender  passion,  and  made  sundry  very  excellent,  though 
rather  trite,  observations  upon  disappointments  in  love.  It  was 
evident  he  had  something  on  his  mind  which  he  wished  to  impart, 
but  felt  awkward  in  approaching  it.  I  was  curious  to  see  what 
this  strain  would  lead  to,  but  determined  not  to  assist  him.  In 
deed,  I  mischievously  pretended  to  turn  the  conversation,  and 
talked  of  his  usual  topics,  dogs,  horses,  and  hunting;  but  he 
was  very  brief  in  his  replies,  and  invariably  got  back,  by  hook  or 
by  crook,  into  the  sentimental  vein. 

At  length  we  came  to  a  clump  of  trees  overhanging  a  whis 
pering  brook,  with  a  rustic  bench  at  their  feet.  The  trees  were 
grievously  scored  with  letters  and  devices,  grown  out  of  all  shape 
and  size  by  the  growth  of  the  bark ;  and  it  appeared  that  this 
grove  had  served  as  a  kind  of  register  of  the  family  loves  from 
time  immemorial.  Here  Master  Simon  made  a  pause,  pulled  up 
a  tuft  of  flowers,  threw  them  one  by  one  into  the  water,  and  at 
length,  turning  somewhat  abruptly  upon  me,  asked  me  if  I  had 
ever  been  in  love.  I  confess  the  question  startled  me  a  little,  as 
I  am  not  over-fond  of  making  confessions  of  my  amorous  follies, 
and  above  all  should  never  dream  of  choosing  my  friend  Master 


246  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Simon  for  a  confidant.  He  did  not  wait,  however,  for  a  reply ; 
the  inquiry  was  merely  a  prelude  to  a  confession  on  his  own  part, 
and  after  several  circumlocutions  and  whimsical  preambles,  he 
fairly  disburthened  himself  of  a  very  tolerable  story  of  his  having 
been  crossed  in  love. 

The  reader  will,  very  probably,  suppose  that  it  related  to  the 
gay  widow  who  jilted  him  not  long  since  at  Doncaster  races ; — no 
such  thing.  It  was  about  a  sentimental  passion  that  he  once  had 
for  a  most  beautiful  young  lady,  who  wrote  poetry,  and  played  on 
the  harp.  He  used  to  serenade  her ;  and,  indeed,  he  described 
several  tender  and  gallant  scenes,  in  which  he  was  evidently  pic 
turing  himself  in  his  mind's  eye  as  some  elegant  hero  of  romance, 
though,  unfortunately  for  the  tale,  I  only  saw  him  as  he  stood 
before  me,  a  dapper  little  old  bachelor,  with  a  face  like  an  apple 
that  had  dried  with  the  bloom  on  it. 

What  were  the  particulars  of  this  tender  tale  I  have  already 
forgotten ;  indeed,  I  listened  to  it  with  a  heart  like  a  very  pebble 
stone,  having  hard  work  to  repress  a  smile  while  Master  Simon 
•was  putting  on  the  amorous  swain,  uttering  every  now  and  then 
a  sigh,  and  endeavoring  to  look  sentimental  and  melancholy. 

All  that  I  recollect  is,  that  the  lady,  according  to  his  account, 
was  certainly  a  little  touched ;  for  she  used  to  accept  all  the 
music  that  he  copied  for  her  harp,  and  all  the  patterns  that  he 
drew  for  her  dresses ;  and  he  began  to  flatter  himself,  after  a  long 
course  of  delicate  attentions,  that  he  was  gradually  fanning  up  a 
gentle  flame  in  her  heart,  when  she  suddenly  accepted  the  hand 
of  a  rich,  boisterous,  fox-hunting  baronet,  without  either  music  or 
sentiment,  who  carried  her  by  storm,  after  a  fortnight's  courtship. 

Master  Simon  could  not  help  concluding  by  some  observation 
about  "  modest  merit,"  and  the  power  of  gold  over  the  sex.  As 


A  BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS.  247 

a  remembrance  of  his  passion,  he  pointed  out  a  heart  carved  on 
the  bark  of  one  of  the  trees ;  but  which,  in  the  process  of  time, 
had  grown  out  into  a  large  excrescence ;  and  he  showed  me  a 
lock  of  her  hair,  which  he  wore  in  a  true  lover's  knot,  in  a  large 
gold  brooch. 

I  have  seldom  met  with  an  old  bachelor  who  had  not,  at  some 
time  or  other,  his  nonsensical  moment,  when  he  would  become 
tender  and  sentimental,  talk  about  the  concerns  of  the  heart,  and 
have  some  confession  of  a  delicate  nature  to  make.  Almost  every 
man  has  some  little  trait  of  romance  in  his  life,  to  which  he  looks 
back  with  fondness,  and  about  which  he  is  apt  to  grow  garrulous 
occasionally.  He  recollects  himself  as  he  was  at  the  time,  young 
and  gamesome ;  and  forgets  that  his  hearers  have  no  other  idea 
of  the  hero  of  the  tale,  but  such  as  he  may  appear  at  the  time  of 
telling  it ;  peradventure,  a  withered,  whimsical,  spindle-shanked 
old  gentleman.  With  married  men,  it  is  true,  this  is  not  so  fre 
quently  the  case ;  their  amorous  romance  is  apt  to  decline  after 
marriage;  why,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  imagine;  but  with  a 
bachelor,  though  it  may  slumber,  it  never  dies.  It  is  always  lia 
ble  to  break  out  again  in  transient  flashes,  and  never  so  much  as 
on  a  spring  morning  in  the  country ;  or  on  a  winter  evening  when 
seated  in  his  solitary  chamber,  stirring  up  the  fire  and  talking  of 
matrimony. 

The  moment  Master  Simon  had  gone  through  his  confession, 
and,  to  use  the  common  phrase,  "had  made  a  clean  breast  of  it," 
he  became  quite  himself  again.  He  had  settled  the  point  which 
had  been  worrying  his  mind,  and  doubtless  -considered  himself 
established  as  a  man  of  sentiment  in  my  opinion.  Before  we  had 
finished  our  morning's  stroll,  he  was  singing  as  blithe  as' a  grass 
hopper,  whistling  to  his  dogs,  and  telling  droll  stories ;  and  I  re- 


248  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

collect  that  he  was  particularly  facetious  that  day  at  dinner,  on 
the  subject  of  matrimony,  and  uttered  several  excellent  jokes,  not 
to  be  found  in  Joe  Miller,  that  made  the  bride  elect  blush  and 
look  down ;  but  set  all  the  old  gentlemen  at  the  table  in  a  roar, 
and  absolutely  brought  tears  into  the  general's  eyes. 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 

"  Memo  England ! " 

ANCIENT  PHRASE. 

THERE  is  nothing  so  rare  as  for  a  man  to  ride  his  hobby  without 
molestation.  I  find  the  Squire  has  not  so  undisturbed  an  indul 
gence  in  his  humors  as  I  had  imagined ;  but  has  been  repeatedly 
thwarted  of  late,  and  has  suffered  a  kind  of  well-meaning  perse 
cution  from  a  Mr.  Faddy,  an  old  gentleman  of  some  weight,  at 
least  of  purse,  who  has  recently  moved  into  the  neighborhood. 
He  is  a  worthy  and  substantial  manufacturer,  who,  having  accu 
mulated  a  large  fortune  by  dint  of  steam  engines  and  spinning- 
jennies,  has  retired  from  business,  and  set  up  for  a  country  gen 
tleman:  He  has  taken  an  old  country  seat,  and  refitted  it ;  and 
painted  and  plastered  it,  until  it  looks  not  unlike  his  own  manu 
factory.  He  has  been  particularly  careful  in  mending  the  walls 
and  hedges,  and  putting  up  notices  of  spring-guns  and  man-traps 
in  every  part  of  his  premises.  Indeed,  he  shows  great  jealousy 
about  his  territorial  rights,  having  stopped  up  a  foot-path  which 
led  across  his  fields ;  and  given  warning,  in  staring  letters,  that 
whoever  was  found  trespassing  on  those  grounds  would  be  prose 
cuted  with  the  utmost  rigor  of  the  laAV.  He  has  brought  into  the 
country  with  him  all  the  practical  maxims  of  the  town,  and  the 
bustling  habits  of  business ;  and  is  one  of  those  sensible,  useful, 
11* 


250  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

prosing,  troublesome,  intolerable  old  gentlemen,  who  go  about  wea 
rying  and  worrying  society  with  excellent  plans  for  public  utility. 

He  is  very  much  disposed  to  be  on  intimate  terms  with  the 
Squire,  and  calls  on  him  every  now  and  then,  with  some  project 
for  the  good  of  the  neighborhood,  which  happens  to  run  diametri 
cally  opposite  to  some  one  or  other  of  the  Squire's  peculiar  no 
tions  ;  but  which  is  "  too  sensible  a  measure "  to  be  openly 
opposed.  He  has  annoyed  him  excessively  by  enforcing  the 
vagrant  laws ;  persecuting  the  gipsies,  and  endeavoring  to  sup 
press  country  wakes  and  holiday  games ;  which  he  considers 
great  nuisances,  and  reprobates  as  causes  of  the  deadly  sin  of 
idleness. 

There  is  evidently  in  all  this  a  little  of  the  ostentation  of 
newly-acquired  consequence ;  the  tradesman  is  gradually  swell 
ing  into  the  aristocrat ;  aud  he  begins  to  grow  excessively  intol 
erant  of  every  thing  that  is  not  genteel.  He  has  a  great  deal 
to  say  about  "  the  common  people ; "  talks  much  of  his  park,  his 
preserves,  and  the  necessity  of  enforcing  the  game  laws  more 
strictly ;  and  makes  frequent  use  of  the  phrase,  "  the  gentry  of 
the  neighborhood." 

He  came  to  the  Hall  lately,  with  a  face  full  of  business,  that 
he  and  the  Squire,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  might  lay  their  heads 
together,"  to  hit  upon  some  mode  of  putting  a  stop  to  the  frolick 
ing  at  the  village  on  the  approaching  May-day.  It  drew,  he  said, 
idle  people  together  from  all  parts  of  the  neighborhood,  who  spent 
the  day  fiddling,  dancing,  and  carousing,  instead  of  staying  at 
home  to  work  for  their  families. 

Now,  as  the  Squire,  unluckily,  is  at  the  bottom  of  these  May 
day  revels,  it  may  be  supposed  that  these  suggestions  of  the  saga 
cious  Mr.  Faddy  were  not  received  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world. 


ENGLISH   GRAVITY.  251 

It  is  true,  the  old  gentleman  is  too  courteous  to  show  any  temper 
to  a  guest  in  his  own  house,  but  no  sooner  was  he  gone  than  the 
indignation  of  the  Squire  found  vent,  at  having  his  poetical  cob 
webs  invaded  by  this  buzzing,  blue-bottle  fly  of  traffic.  In  his 
warmth  he  inveighed  against  the  whole  race  of  manufacturers, 
who,  I  found,  were,  sore  disturbers  of  his  comfort.  "  Sir,"  said 
he,  with  emotion,  "  it  makes  my  heart  bleed  to  see  all  our  fine 
streams  dammed  up  and  bestrode  by  cotton-mills ;  our  valleys 
smoking  wth  steam-engines,  and  the  din  of  the  hammer  and  the 
loom  scaring  away  all  our  rural  delights.  What's  to  become  of 
merry  old  England,  when  its  manor-houses  are  all  turned  into 
manufactories,  and  its  sturdy  peasantry  into  pin-makers  and  stock 
ing-weavers?  I  have  looked  in  vain  for  merry  Sherwood,  and  all 
the  greenwood  haunts  of  Robin  Hood ;  the  whole  country  is  cov 
ered  with  manufacturing  towns.  I  have  stood  on  the  ruins  of 
Dudley  Castle,  and  looked  round,  with  an  aching  heart,  on  what 
were  once  its  feudal  domains  of  verdant  and  beautiful  country. 
Sir,  I  beheld  a  mere  campus  phlegrae  ;  a  region  of  fire ;  reeking 
with  coal-pits,  and  furnaces,  and  smelting-houses,  vomiting  forth 
flames  and  smoke.  The  pale  and  ghastly  people,  toiling  among 
vile  exhalations,  looked  more  like  demons  than  human  beings ; 
the  clanking  wheels  and  engines,  seen  through  the  murky  atmo 
sphere,  looked  like  instruments  of  torture  in  this  pandemonium. 
What  is  to  become  of  the  country  with  these  evils  rankling  in  its 
very  core  ?  Sir,  these  manufacturers  will  be  the  ruin  of  our  rural 
manners  ;  they  will  destroy  the  national  character ;  they  will  not 
leave  materials  for  a  single  line  of  poetry ! " 

The  Squire  is  apt  to  wax  eloquent  on  such  themes ;  and  I 
could  hardly  help  smiling  at  this  whimsical  lamentation  over  na 
tional  industry  and  public  improvement.  I  am  told,  however, 


252  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

that  he  really  grieves  at  the  growing  of  trade,  as  dstroying  the 
charm  of  life.  He  considers  every  new  short-hand  mode  of  doing 
things,  as  an  inroad  of  snug  sordid  method ;  and  thinks  that  this 
will  soon  become  a  mere  matter-of-fact  world,  where  life  will  be 
reduced  to  a  mathematical  calculation  of  conveniences,  and  every 
thing  will  be  done  by  steam. 

He  maintains,  also,  that  the  nation  has  declined  in  its  free 
and  joyous  spirit  in  proportion  as  it  has  turned  its  attention  to 
commerce  and  manufactures ;  and  that  in  old  times,  when  Eng 
land  was  an  idler,  it  was  also  a  merrier  little  island.  In  support 
of  this  opinion,  he  adduces  the  frequency  and  splendor  of  ancient 
festivals  and  merry-makings,  and  the  hearty  spirit  with  which 
they  were  kept  up  by  all  classes  of  people.  His  memory  is  stored 
with  the  accounts  given  by  Stow,  in  his  Survey  of  London,  of 
the  holiday  revels  at  the  inns  of  court,  the  Christmas  mummeries, 
and  the  masquings  and  bonfires  about  the  streets.  London,  he 
says,  in  those  days,  resembled  the  continental  cities  in  its  pictu 
resque  manners  and  amusements.  The  court  used  to  dance  after 
dinner  on  public  occasions.  After  the  coronation  dinner  of  Eich- 
ard  II.,  for  example,  the  king,  the  prelates,  the  nobles,  the 
knights,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  danced  in  Westminster 
Hall  to  the  music  of  the  minstrels.  The  example  of  the  court 
was  followed  by  the  middling  classes,  and  so  down  to  the  lowest, 
and  the  whole  nation  was  a  dancing,  jovial  nation.  He  quotes 
a  lively  city  picture  of  the  times,  given  by  Stow,  which  resembles 
the  lively  scenes  one  may  often  see  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris ;  for 
he  tells  us  that  on  holidays,  after  evening  prayers,  the  maidens  in 
London  used  to  assemble  before  the  door,  in  sight  of  their  mas 
ters  and  dames,  and  while  one  played  on  a  timbrel,  the  others 
danced  for  garlands,  hanged  athwart  the  street. 


ENGLISH   GRAVITY.  253 

"  Where  will  we  meet  with  such  merry  groups  now-a-days  ?  " 
the  Squire  will  exclaim,  shaking  his  head  mournfully ; — "  and 
then  as  to  the  gayety  that  prevailed  in  dress  throughout  all  ranks 
of  society ;  and  made  the  very  streets  so  fine  and  picturesque. 
'  I  have  myself,'  says  Gervaise  Markham,  '  met  an  ordinary  tap 
ster  in  his  silk  stockings,  garters  deep  fringed  with  gold  lace,  the 
rest  of  his  apparel  suitable,  with  cloak  lined  with  velvet ! '  Nashe, 
too,  \vho  wrote  in  1593,  exclaims  at  the  finery  of  the  nation, 
'  England,  the  player's  stage  of  gorgeous  attire,  the  ape  of  all 
nations'  superfluities,  the  continual  masquer  in  outlandish  habili 
ments.'  " 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  authorities  quoted  by  the  Squire  by  way 
of  contrasting  what  he  supposes  to  have  been  the  former  vivacity 
of  the  nation,  with  its  present  monotonous  character.  "John 
Bull,"  he  will  say,  "  was  then  a  gay  cavalier,  with  a  sword  by  his 
side  and  a  feather  in  his  cap ;  but  he  is  now  a  plodding  citizen, 
in  snuff-colored  coat  and  gaiters." 

By  the  by,  there  really  appears  to  have  been  some  change  in 
the  national  character  since  the  days  of  which  the  Squire  is  so 
fond  of  talking ;  those  days  when  this  little  island  acquired  its 
favorite  old  title  of  "  merry  England."  This  may  be  attributed 
in  part  to  the  growing  hardships  of  the  times,  and  the  necessity 
of  turning  the  whole  attention  to  the  means  of  subsistence ;  but 
England's  gayest  customs  prevailed  at  times  when  her  common 
people  enjoyed  comparatively  few  of  the  comforts  and  conveni 
ences  which  they  do  at  present.  It  may  be  still  more  attributed 
to  the  universal  spirit  of  gain,  and  the  calculating  habits  which 
commerce  has  introduced  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  attribute  it  chiefly 
to  the  gradual  increase  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  and  the 
growing  freedom  and  activity  of  opinion. 


254  BRACEBKIDGE    HALL. 

A  free  people  are  apt  to  be  grave  and  thoughtful.  They  have 
high  and  important  matters  to  occupy  their  minds.  They  feel  it 
their  right,  their  interest,  and  their  duty  to  mingle  in  public  con 
cerns,  and  to  watch  over  the  general  welfare.  The  continual  ex 
ercise  of  the  mind  on  political  topics  gives  intenser  habits  of  think 
ing,  and  a  more  serious  and  earnest  demeanor.  A  nation  becomes 
less  gay,  but  more  intellectually  active  and  vigorous.  It  evinces 
less  play  of  the  fancy,  but  more  power  of  the  imagination ;  less 
taste  and  elegance,  but  more  grandeur  of  mind ;  less  animated 
vivacity,  but  deeper  enthusiasm. 

It  is  when  men  are  shut  out  of  the  regions  of  manly  thought 
by  a  despotic  government ;  when  every  grave  and  lofty  theme  is 
rendered  perilous  to  discussion  and  almost  to  reflection ;  it  is  then 
that  they  turn  to  the  safer  occupations  of  taste  and  amusement ; 
trifles  rise  to  importance,  and  occupy  the  craving  activity  of  intel 
lect.  No  being  is  more  void  of  care  and  reflection,  than  the 
slave ;  none  dances  more  gayly  in  his  intervals  of  labor :  but  make 
him  free,  give  him  rights  and  interests  to  guard,  and  he  becomes 
thoughtful  and  laborious. 

The  French  are  a  gayer  people  than  the  English.  Why? 
Partly  from  temperament,  perhaps ;  but  greatly  because  they  have 
been  accustomed  to  governments  which  surrounded  the  free  exer 
cise  of  thought  with  danger,  and  where  he  only  was  safe  who 
shut  his  eyes  and  ears  to  public  events,  and  enjoyed  the  passing 
pleasure  of  the  day.  Within  late  years  they  have  had  more  op 
portunity  of  exercising  their  minds ;  and  within  late  years  the 
national  character  has  essentially  changed.  Never  did  the  French 
enjoy  such  a  degree  of  freedom  as  they  do  at  this  moment :  and 
at  this  moment  the  French  are  comparatively  a  grave  people. 


GIPSIES. 

"What's  that  to  absolute  freedom ;  such  as  the  very  beggars  hare ;  to  feast  and  revel 
here  to-day,  and  yonder  to-morrow ;  next  day  where  they  please ;  and  so  on  still,  the 
the  whole  country  or  kingdom  over  ?  There's  liberty  I  the  birds  of  the  air  can  take  no 
more.  JOVIAL  CBEW. 

SINCE  the  meeting  with  the  gipsies,  which  I  have  related  in  a 
former  paper,  I  have  observed  several  of  them  haunting  the  pur 
lieus  of  the  Hall,  notwithstanding  a  positive  interdiction  of  the 
Squire.  They  are  part  of  a  gang  which  has  long  kept  about  this 
neighborhood  to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  farmers,  whose  poul 
try-yards  often  suffer  from  their  nocturnal  invasions.  They  are, 
however,  in  some  measure,  patronized  by  the  Squire,  who  consid 
ers  the  race  as  belonging  to  the  good  old  times ;  which,  to  confess 
the  private  truth,  seem  to  have  abounded  with  good-for-nothing 
characters. 

This  roving  crew  is  called  "  Star-light  Tom's  Gang,"  from 
the  name  of  its  chieftain,  a  notorious  poacher.  I  have  heard 
repeatedly  of  the  misdeeds  of  this  "  minion  of  the  moon ; "  for 
every  midnight  depredation  in  park,  or  fold,  or  farm-yard,  is  laid 
to  his  charge.  Star-light  Tom,  in  fact,  answers  to  his  name ;  he 
seems  to  walk  in  darkness,  and,  like  a  fox,  to  be  traced  in  the 
morning  by  the  mischief  he  has  done.  He  reminds  me  of  that 
fearful  personage  in  the  nursery  rhyme : 


256  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

Who  goes  round  the  house  at  night  ? 

None  hut  bloody  Tom  ! 
Who  steals  all  the  sheep  at  night  ? 

None  hut  one  hy  one ! 

In  short,  Star-light  Tom  is  the  scape-goat  of  the  neighborhood ; 
but  so  cunning  and  adroit,  that  there  is  no  detecting  him.  Old 
Christy  and  the  gamekeeper  have  watched  ma^p  a  night  in  hopes 
of  entrapping  him ;  and  Christy  often  patrols  the  park  with  his 
dogs,  for  the  purpose,  but  all  in  vain.  It  is  said  that  the  Squire 
winks  hard  at  his  misdeeds,  having  an  indulgent  feeling  towards 
the  vagabond,  because  of  his  being  very  expert  at  all  kinds  of 
game,  a  great  shot  with  the  cross-bow,  and  the  best  morris-dancer 
in  the  country. 

The  Squire  also  suffers  the  gang  to  lurk  unmolested  about 
the  skirts  of  his  estate,  on  condition  they  do  not  come  about  the 
house.  The  approaching  wedding,  however,  has  made  a  kind  of 
Saturnalia  at  the  Hall,  and  has  caused  a  suspension  of  all  sober 
rule.  It  has  produced  a  great  sensation  throughout  the  female 
part  of  the  household ;  not  a  housemaid  but  dreams  of  wedding 
favors,  and  has  a  husband  running  in  her  head.  Such  a  time  is 
a  harvest  for  the  gipsies :  there  is  a  public  footpath  leading  across 
one  part  of  the  park,  by  which  they  have  free  ingress,  and  they 
are  continually  hovering  about  the  grounds,  telling  the  servant- 
girls'  fortunes,  or  getting  smuggled  in  to  the  young  ladies. 

I  believe  the  Oxonian  amuses  himself  very  much  by  furnish 
ing  them  with  hints  in  private,  and  bewildering  all  the  weak 
brains  in  the  house  with  their  wonderful  revelations.  The  gene 
ral  certainly  was  very  much  astonished  by  the  communications 
made  to  him  the  other  evening  by  the  gipsy  girl :  he  kept  a  wary 
silence  towards  us  on  the  subject,  and  affected  to  treat  it  lightly ; 


NB.W  YORK.    U.T  PUTNAM 


GIPSIES.  257 

but  I  have  noticed  that  hie  has  since  redoubled  his  attentions  to 
Lady  Lillycraft  and  her  dogs. 

I  have  seen  also  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  pretty  and 
love-sick  niece,  holding  a  long  conference  with  one  of  these  old 
sybils  behind  a  large  tree  in  the  avenue,  and  often  looking  round 
to  see  that  she  was  not  observed.  I  make  no  doubt  she  was  en 
deavoring  to  get  some  favorable  augury  about  the  result  of  her 
love-quarrel  with  young  Eeady-Money,  as  oracles  have  always 
been  more  consulted  on  love  affairs  than  upon  any  thing  else.  I 
fear,  however,  that  in  this  instance  the  response  was  not  so  favor 
able  as  usual,  for  I  perceived  poor  Phoebe  returning  pensively 
towards  the  house ;  her  head  hanging  down,  her  hat  in  her  hand, 
and  the  ribbon  trailing  along  the  ground. 

At  another  time,  as  I  turned  a  corner  of  a  terrace,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  just  by  a  clump  of  trees,  and  a  large  stone 
urn,  I  came  upon  a  bevy  of  the  young  girls  of  the  family,  at 
tended  by  this  same  Phoebe  Wilkins.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  compre 
hend  the  meaning  of  their  blushing  and  giggling,  and  their  ap 
parent  agitation,  until  I  saw  the  red  cloak  of  a  gipsy  vanishing 
among  the  shrubbery.  A  few  moments  after  I  caught  a  sight  of 
Master  Simon  and  the  Oxonian  stealing  along  one  of  the  walks 
of  the  garden,  chuckling  and  laughing  at  their  successful  wag 
gery  ;  having  evidently  put  the  gipsy  up  to  the  thing,  and  in 
structed  her  what  to  say. 

After  all,  there  is  something  strangely  pleasing  in  these  tam- 
perings  with  the  future,  even  where  we  are  convinced  of  the  fal 
lacy  of  the  prediction.  It  is  singular  how  willingly  the  mind  will 
half  deceive  itself;  and  with  a  degree  of  awe  we  will  listen  even 
to  these  babblers  about  futurity.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  feel  angry 
with  these  poor  vagabonds,  that  seek  to  deceive  us  into  bright 


258  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

hopes  and  expectations.  I  have  always  been  something  of  a 
castle-builder,  and  have  found  my  liveliest  pleasures  to  arise  from 
the  illusions  which  fancy  has  cast  over  commonplace  realities. 
As  I  get  on  in  life,  I  find  it  more  difficult  to  deceive  myself  in 
this  delightful  manner ;  and  I  should  be  thankful  to  any  prophet, 
however  false,  who  would  conjure  the  clouds  which  hang  over 
futurity  into  palaces,  and  all  its  doubtful  regions  into  fairy-land. 

The  Squire,  who,  as  I  have  observed,  has  a  private  good-will 
towards  gipsies,  has  suffered  considerable  annoyance  on  their  ac 
count.  Not  that  they  requite  his  indulgence  with  ingratitude, 
for  they  do  not  depredate  very  flagrantly  on  his  estate ;  but  be 
cause  their  pilferings  and  misdeeds  occasion  loud  murmurs  in  the 
village.  I  can  readily  understand  the  old  gentleman's  humor  on 
this  point ;  I  have  a  great  toleration  for  all  kinds  of  vagrant 
sunshiny  existence,  and  must  confess  I  take  a  pleasure  in  observ 
ing  the  ways  of  gipsies.  The  English,  who  are  accustomed  to 
them  from  childhood,  and  often  suffer  from  their  petty  depreda- 
dations,  consider  them  as  mere  nuisances ;  but  I  have  been  very 
much  struck  with  their  peculiarities.  I  like  to  behold  their  clear 
olive  complexions ;  their  romantic  black  eyes  ;  their  raven  locks  ; 
their  lithe  slender  figures  ;  and  to  hear  them,  in  low  silver  tones, 
dealing  forth  magnificent  promises  of  honors  and  estates :  of 
world's  wealth,  and  ladies'  love. 

Their  mode  of  life,  too,  has  something  in  it  very  fanciful  and 
picturesque.  They  are  the  free  denizens  of  nature,  and  maintain 
a  primitive  independence,  in  spite  of  law  and  gospel ;  of  county 
jails  and  country  magistrates.  It  is  curious  to  see  this  obstinate 
adherence  to  the  wild  unsettled  habits  of  savage  life  transmitted 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  preserved  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  the  most  cultivated,  populous,  and  systematic  countries  in  the 


GIPSIES.  259 

world.  They  are  totally  distinct  from  the  busy,  thrifty  people 
about  them.  They  seem  to  be,  like  the  Indians  of  America,  either 
above  or  below  the  ordinary  cares  and  anxieties  of  mankind. 
Heedless  of  power,  of  honors,  of  wealth ;  and  indifferent  to  the 
fluctuations  of  times ;  the  rise  or  fall  of  grain,  or  stock,  or  em 
pires,  they  seem  to  laugh  at  the  toiling,  fretting  world  around 
them,  and  to  live  according  to  the  philosophy  of  the  old  song : 

"  Who  would  ambition  shun, 
And  loves  to  lie  f  the  sun, 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

In  this  way  they  wander  from  county  to  county;  keeping 
about  the  purlieus  of  villages,  or  in  plenteous  neighborhoods, 
where  there  are  fat  farms  and  rich  country-seats.  Their  encamp 
ments  are  generally  made  in  some  beautiful  spot ;  either  a  green 
shady  nook  of  a  road ;  or  on  the  border  of  a  common,  under  a 
sheltering  hedge ;  or  on  the  skirts  of  a  fine  spreading  wood. 
They  are  always  to  be  found  lurking  about  fairs,  and  races,  and 
rustic  gatherings,  wherever  there  is  pleasure,  and  throng,  and 
idleness.  They  are  the  oracles  of  milkmaids  and  simple  serving- 
girls  ;  and  sometimes  have  even  the  honor  of  perusing  the  white 
hands  of  gentlemen's  daughters,  when  rambling  about  their 
fathers'  grounds.  They  are  the  bane  of  good  housewives  and 
thrifty  farmers,  and  odious  in  the  eyes  of  country  justices ;  but, 
like  all  other  vagabond  beings,  they  have  something  to  commend 


260  BEACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

them  to  the  fancy.  They  are  among  the  last  traces,  in  these 
matter-of-fact  days,  of  the  motley  population  of  former  times ; 
and  are  whimsically  associated  in  my  mind  with  fairies  and 
witches,  Eobin  Good  Fellow,  Kobin  Hood,  and  the  other  fantas 
tical  personages  of  poetry. 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS. 

Happy  the  age,  and  harmless  were  the  dayes, 
(For  then  true  love  and  amity  was  found,) 
When  every  village  did  a  May-pole  raise, 

And  "Whitson  ales  and  May  games  did  abound : 
And  all  the  lusty  yonkers  in  a  rout, 
"With  merry  lasses  daunc'd  the  rod  about, 
Then  friendship  to  their  banquets  bid  the  guests, 
And  poore  men  far'd  the  better  for  their  feasts. 

PASQITIL'S  PALIHODIA. 

THE  month  of  April  has  nearly  passed  away,  and  we  are  fast 
approaching  that  poetical  day,  which  was  considered,  in  old  times, 
as  the  boundary  that  parted  the  frontiers  of  winter  and  summer. 
With  all  its  caprices,  however,  I  like  the  month  of  April.  I  like 
these  laughing  and  crying  days,  when  sun  and  shade  seem  to  run 
in  billows  over  the  landscape.  I  like  to  see  the  sudden  shower 
coursing  over  the  meadow,  and  giving  all  nature  a  greener  smile ; 
and  the  bright  sunbeams  chasing  the  flying  cloud,  and  turning  all 
its  drops  into  diamonds. 

I  was  enjoying  a  morning  of  the  kind  in  company  with  the 
Squire  in  one  of  the  finest  parts  of  the  park.  We  were  skirting 
a  beautiful  grove,  and  he  was  giving  me  a  kind  of  biographical 
account  of  several  of  his  favorite  forest  trees,  when  he  heard  the 


262  BRACEBRIDGE   HAIX. 

strokes  of  an  axe  from  the  midst  of  a  thick  copse.  The  Squire 
paused  and  listened,  with  manifest  signs  of  uneasiness.  He 
turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  sound.  The  strokes  grew 
louder  and  louder  as  we  advanced ;  there  was  evidently  a  vigor 
ous  arm  wielding  the  axe.  The  Squire  quickened  his  pace,  but  in 
vain ;  a  loud  crack  and  a  succeeding  crash  told  that  the  mischief 
had  been  done,  and  some  child  of  the  forest  laid  low.  When  we 
came  to  the  place,  we  found  Master  Simon  and  several  others 
standing  about  a  tall  and  beautifully  straight  young  tree,  which 
had  just  been  felled. 

The  Squire,  though  a  man  of  most  harmonious  dispositions, 
was  completely  put  out  of  tune  by  this  circumstance.  He  felt 
like  a  monarch  witnessing  the  murder  of  one  of  his  liege  subjects, 
and  demanded,  with  some  asperity,  the  meaning  of  the  outrage.' 
It  turned  out  to  be  an  affair  of  Master  Simon's,  who  had  selected 
the  tree,  from  its  height  and  straightness,  for  a  May-pole,  the  old 
one  which  stood  on  the  village  green  being  unfit  for  farther  ser 
vice.  If  any  thing  could  have  soothed  the  ire  of  my  worthy  host, 
it  would  have  been  the  reflection  that  his  tree  had  fallen  in  so 
good  a  cause ;  and  I  saw  that  there  was  a  great  struggle  between 
his  fondness  for  his  groves,  and  his  devotion  to  May-day.  He 
could  not  contemplate  the  prostrate  tree,  however,  without  indulg 
ing  in  lamentation,  and  making  a  kind  of  funeral  eulogy,  like 
Marc  Antony,  over  the  body  of  Caesar ;  and  he  forbade  that  any 
tree  should  thenceforward  be  cut  down  on  his  estate  without  a 
warrant  from  himself ;  being  determined,  he  said,  to  hold  the  sov 
ereign  power  of  life  and  death  in  his  own  hands. 

This  mention  of  the  May-pole  struck  my  attention,  and  I  in 
quired  whether  the  old  customs  connected  with  it  were  really  kept 
up  in  this  part  of  the  country.  The  Squire  shook  his  head  mourn- 


MAY-DAT   CUSTOMS.  263 

fully ;  and  I  found  I  had  touched  on  one  of  his  tender  points,  for  he 
grew  quite  melancholy  in  bewailing  the  total  decline  of  old  May 
day.  Though  it  is  regularly  celebrated  in  the  neighboring  village, 
yet  it  has  been  merely  resuscitated  by  the  worthy  Squire,  and  is 
kept  up  in  a  forced  state  of  existence  at  his  expense.  He  meets 
with  continual  discouragements  ;  and  finds  great  difficulty  in  get 
ting  the  country  bumpkins  to  play  their  parts  tolerably.  He 
manages  to  have  every  year  a  "  Queen  of  the  May ; "  but  as  to 
Kobin  Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  the  Dragon,  the  Hobby  Horse,  and  all 
the  other  motley  crew  that  used  to  enliven  the  day  with  their 
mummery,  he  has  not  ventured  to  introduce  them. 

Still  I  look  forward  with  some  interest  to  the  promised  shadow 
of  old  May-day,  even  though  it  be  but  a  shadow ;  and  I  feel  more 
and  more  pleased  with  the  whimsical  yet  harmless  hobby  of  my 
host,  which  is  surrounding  him  with  agreeable  associations,  and 
making  a  little  world  of  poetry  about  him.  Brought  up,  as  I 
have  been,  in  a  new  country,  I  may  appreciate  too  highly  the  faint 
vestiges  of  ancient  customs  which  I  now  and  then  meet  with,  and 
the  interest  I  express  in  them  may  provoke  a  smile  from  those 
who  are  negligently  suffering  them  to  pass  away.  But  with  what 
ever  indifference  they  may  be  regarded  by  those  "  to  the  manner 
born,"  yet  in  my  mind  the  lingering  flavor  of  them  imparts  a 
charm  to  rustic  life,  which  nothing  else  could  readily  supply. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  delight  I  felt  on  first  seeing  a  May 
pole.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee,  close  by  the  picturesque 
old  bridge  that  stretches  across  the  river,  from  the  quaint  little 
city  of  Chester.  I  had  already  been  carried  back  into  former 
days  by  the  antiquities  of  that  venerable  place ;  the  examination 
of  which  is  equal  to  turning  over  the  pages  of  a  black-letter  vol 
ume,  or  gazing  on  the  pictures  in  Froissart.  The  May-pole  on 


264  BRACEBRIDGE   HAT.T.. 

the  margin  of  that  poetic  stream  completed  the  illusion.  My 
fancy  adorned  it  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  peopled  the  green 
bank  with  all  the  dancing  revelry  of  May-day.  The  mere  sight 
of  this  May-pole  gave  a  glow  to  my  feelings,  and  spread  a  charm 
over  the  country  for  the  rest  of  the  day ;  and  as  I  traversed  a 
part  of  the  fair  plain  of  Cheshire,  and  the  beautiful  borders  of 
Wales,  and  looked  from  among  swelling  hills,  down  a  long  green 
valley,  through  which  "  the  Deva  wound  its  wizard  stream,"  my 
imagination  turned  all  into  a  perfect  Arcadia. 

Whether  it  be  owing  to  such  poetical  associations  early  in 
stilled  into  my  mind,  or  whether  there  is  a  sympathetic  revival  and 
budding  forth  of  the  feelings  at  this  season,  certain  it  is,  that  I 
always  experience,  wherever  I  may  be  placed,  a  delightful  expan 
sion  of  the  heart  at  the  return  of  May.  It  is  said  that  birds 
about  this  time  will  become  restless  in  their  cages,  as  if  instinct 
with  the  season,  conscious  of  the  revelry  going  on  in  the  groves, 
and  impatient  to  break  from  their  bondage,  and  join  in  the  jubilee 
of  the  year.  In  like  manner  I  have  felt  myself  excited,  even  in 
the  midst  of  the  metropolis,  when  the  windows,  which  had  been 
churlishly  closed  all  winter,  were  again  thrown  open  to  receive 
the  balmy  breath  of  May ;  when  the  sweets  of  the  country  were 
breathed  into  the  town,  and  flowers  were  cried  about  the  streets. 
I  have  considered  the  treasures  of  flowers  thus  poured  in,  as  so 
many  missives  from  nature  inviting  us  forth  to  enjoy  the  virgin 
beauty  of  the  year,  before  its  freshness  is  exhaled  by  the  heats  of 
sunny  summer. 

One  can  readily  imagine  what  a  gay  scene  it  must  have  been 
in  jolly  old  London,  when  the  doors  were  decorated  with  flowering 
branches,  when  every  hat  was  decked  with  hawthorn,  and  Kobin 
Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  Maid  Marian,  the  morris-dancers,  and  all  the 


MAT-DAY   CUSTOMS.  265 

other  fantastic  masks  and  revellers,  were  performing  their  antics 
about  the  May-pole  in  every  part  of  the  city. 

I  am  not  a  bigoted  admirer  of  old  tunes  and  old  customs 
merely  because  of  their  antiquity ;  but  while  I  rejoice  in  the  de- 
dine  of  many  of  the  rude  usages  and  coarse  amusements  of  for 
mer  days,  I  regret  that  this  innocent  and  fanciful  festival  has 
fallen  into  disuse.  It  seemed  appropriate  to  this  verdant  and 
pastoral  country,  and  calculated  to  light  up  the  too  pervading 
gravity  of  the  nation.  I  value  every  custom  which  tends  to  in 
fuse  poetical  feeling  into  the  common  people,  and  to  sweeten  and 
soften  the  rudeness  of  rustic  manners,  without  destroying  their 
simplicity.  Indeed,  it  is  to  the  decline  of  this  happy  simplicity 
that  the  decline  of  this  custom  may  be  traced ;  and  the  rural 
dance  on  the  green,  and  the  homely  May-day  pageant,  have  grad 
ually  disappeared,  in  proportion  as  the  peasantry  have  become 
expensive  and  artificial  in  their  pleasures,  and  too  knowing  for 
simple  enjoyment. 

Some  attempts,  the  Squire  informs  me,  have  been  made  of 
late  years,  by  men  of  both  taste  and  learning,  to  rally  back  the 
popular  feeling  to  these  standards  of  primitive  simplicity ;  but  the 
time  has  gone  by,  the  feeling  has  become  chilled  by  habits  of  gain 
and  traffic ;  the  country  apes  the  manners  and  amusements  of  the 
town,  and  little  is  heard  of  May-day  at  present,  except  from  the 
lamentations  of  authors,  who  sigh  after  it  from  among  the  brick 
walls  of  the  city: 

"  For  0,  for  0,  the  Hobby  Horse  is  forgot." 
12 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES. 


Nay,  I  tell  you,  I  am  so  well  beloved  in  our  town,  that  not  the  worst  dog  in  the 
street  will  hurt  my  little  finger. 

COLLIER  OP  CBOTDON. 


As  the  neighboring  village  is  one  of  those  out-of-the-way,  but 
gossiping  little  places  where  a  small  matter  makes  a  great  stir,  it 
is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  approach  of  a  festival  like  that  of 
May-day  can  be  regarded  with  indifference,  especially  since  it  is 
made  a  matter  of  such  moment  by  the  great  folks  at  the  Hall. 
Master  Simon,  who  is  the  faithful  factotum  of  the  worthy  Squire, 
.and  jumps  with  his  humor  in  every  thing,  is  frequent  just  now  in 
his  visits  to  the  village,  to  give  directions  for  the  impending  fete ; 
and  as  I  have  taken  the  liberty  occasionally  of  accompanying 
him,  I  have  been  enabled  to  get  some  insight  into  the  characters 
.and  internal  politics  of  this  very  sagacious  little  community. 

Master  Simon  is  in  fact  the  Caesar  of  the  village.  It  is  true 
the  Squire  is  the  protecting  power,  but  his  factotum  is  the  active 
and  busy  agent.  He  intermeddles  in  all  its  concerns;  is  ac 
quainted  with  all  the  inhabitants  and  their  domestic  history ;  gives 
counsel  to  the  old  folks  in  their  business  matters,  and  the  young 
folks  in  their  love  affairs ;  and  enjoys  the  proud  satisfaction  of 
being  a  great  man  in  a  little  world. 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES.  267 

He  is  the  dispenser,  too,  of  the  Squire's  charity,  which  is  boun 
teous  ;  and,  to  do  Master  Simon  justice,  he  performs  this  part  of 
his  functions  with  great  alacrity.  Indeed,  I  have  been  entertained 
with  the  mixture  of  bustle,  importance,  and  kind-heartedness 
which  he  displays.  He  is  of  too  vivacious  a  temperament  to 
comfort  the  afflicted  by  sitting  down  moping  and  whining  and 
blowing  noses  in  concert ;  but  goes  whisking  about  like  a  sparrow, 
chirping  consolation  into  every  hole  and  corner  of  the  village.  I 
have  seen  an  old  woman,  in  a  red  cloak,  hold  him  for  half  an 
hour  together  with  some  long  phthisical  tale  of  distress,  which 
Master  Simon  listened  to  with  many  a  bob  of  the  head,  smack  of 
his  dog-whip,  and  other  symptoms  of  impatience,  though  he  after 
wards  made  a  most  faithful  and  circumstantial  report  of  the  case 
to  the  Squire.  I  have  watched  him,  too,  during  one  of  his  pop 
visits  into  the  cottage  of  a  superannuated  villager,  who  is  a  pen 
sioner  of  the  Squire,  where  he  fidgeted  about  the  room  without 
sitting  down,  made  many  excellent  off-hand  reflections  with  the 
old  invalid,  who  was  propped  up  in  his  chair,  about  the  shortness 
of  life,  the  certainty  of  death,  and  the  necessity  of  preparing  for 
"  that  awful  change ; "  quoted  several  texts  of  Scripture  very  in 
correctly,  but  much  to  the  edification  of  the  cottager's  wife  ;  and 
on  coming  out,  pinched  the  daughter's  rosy  cheek,  and  wondered 
what  was  in  the  young  men,  that  such  a  pretty  face  did  not  get  a 
husband. 

He  has  also  his  cabinet  counsellors  in  the  village,  with  whom 
he  is  very  busy  just  now,  preparing  for  the  May-day  ceremonies. 
Among  these  is  the  village  tailor,  a  pale-faced  fellow,  who  plays 
the  clarinet  in  the  church  choir ;  and,  being  a  great  musical  ge 
nius,  has  frequent  meetings  of  the  band  at  his  house,  where  they 
"  make  night  hideous  "  by  their  concerts.  He  is,  in  consequence, 


268  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


high  in  favor  with  Master  Simon ;  and,  through  his  influence, 
has  the  making,  or  rather  marring,  of  all  the  liveries  of  the  Hall ; 
which  generally  look  as  though  they  had  been  cut  out  by  one  of 
those  scientific  tailors  of  the  Flying  Island  of  Laputa,  who  took 
measure  of  their  customers  with  a  quadrant.  The  tailor,  in  fact, 
might  rise  to  be  one  of  the  moneyed  men  of  the  village,  was  he 
not  rather  too  prone  to  gossip,  and  keep  holidays,  and  give  con 
certs,  and  blow  all  his  substance,  real  and  personal,  through  his 
clarinet ;  which  literally  keeps  him  poor  both  in  body  and  estate. 
He  has  for  the  present  thrown  by  all  his  regular  work,  and  suf 
fered  the  breeches  of  the  village  to  go  unmade  and  unmended, 
while  he  is  occupied  in  making  garlands  of  party-colored  rags,  in 
imitation  of  flowers,  for  the  decoration  of  the  May-pole. 

Another  of  Master  Simon's  counsellors  is  the  apothecary,  a 
short,  and  rather  fat  man,  with  a  pair  of  prominent  eyes,  that 
diverge  like  those  of  a  lobster.  He  is  the  village  wise  man ; 
very  sententious,  and  full  of  profound  remarks  on  shallow  sub 
jects.  Master  Simon  often  quotes  his  sayings,  and  mentions  him 
as  rather  an  extraordinary  man ;  and  even  consults  him  occasion 
ally  in  desperate  cases  of  the  dogs  and  horses.  Indeed,  he  seems 
to  have  been  overwhelmed  by  the  apothecary's  philosophy,  which 
is  exactly  one  observation  deep,  consisting  of  indisputable  max 
ims,  such  as  may  be  gathered  from  the  mottoes  of  tobacco-boxes. 
I  had  a  specimen  of  his  philosophy  in  my  very  first  conversation 
with  him ;  in  the  course  of  which  he  observed,  with  great  solem 
nity  and  emphasis,  that  "  man  is  a  compound  of  wisdom  and 
folly;"  upon  which  Master  Simon,  who  had  hold  of  my  arm, 
pressed  very  hard  upon  it,  and  whispered  in  my  ear,  "  That's  a 
devilish  shrewd  remark." 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

There  will  no  mosse  stick  to  the  stone  of  Sisiphus,  no  grasse  hang  on  the  heeles 
of  Mercury,  no  butter  cleave  on  the  bread  of  a  traveller.  For  as  the  eagle  at  every 
flight  loseth  a  feather,  which  maketh  her  bauld  in  her  age,  so  the  traveller  in  every 
country  loseth  some  fleece,  which  inaketh  him  a  beggar  in  his  youth,  by  buying  that 
for  a  pound  which  he  cannot  sell  again  for  a  penny — repentance. 

LILLY'S  EUPHTTES. 

AMONG  the  worthies  of  the  village,  that  enjoy  the  peculiar  confi 
dence  of  Master  Simon,  is  one  who  has  struck  my  fancy  so  much, 
that  I  have  thought  him  worthy  of  a  separate  notice.  It  is 
Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  a  thin  elderly  man,  rather  threadbare 
and  slovenly,  somewhat  indolent  in  manner,  and  with  an  easy, 
good-humored  look,  not  often  met  with  in  his  craft.  I  have  been 
interested  in  his  favor  by  a  few  anecdotes  which  I  have  picked  up 
concerning  him. 

He  is  a  native  of  the  village,  and  was  a  contemporary  and 
playmate  of  Eeady-Money  Jack  in  the  days  of  their  boyhood. 
Indeed,  they  carried  on  a  kind  of  league  of  mutual  good  offices. 
Slingsby  was  rather  puny,  and  withal  somewhat  of  a  coward,  but 
very  apt  at  his  learning  :  Jack,  on  the  contrary,  was  a  bully-boy 
out  of  doors,  but  a  sad  laggard  at  his  books.  Slingsby  helped 
Jack,  therefore,  to  all  his  lessons ;  Jack  fought  all  Slingsby's  bat 
tles  ;  and  they  were  inseparable  friends.  This  mutual  kindness 


270  BBACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

continued  even  after  they  left  the  school,  notwithstanding  the 
dissimilarity  of  their  characters.  Jack  took  to  ploughing  and 
reaping,  and  prepared  himself  to  till  his  paternal  acres;  while 
the  other  loitered  negligently  on  in  the  path  of  learning,  until  he 
penetrated  even  into  the  confines  of  Latin  and  Mathematics. 

In  an  unlucky  hour,  however,  he  took  to  reading  voyages  and 
travels,  and  was  smitten  with  a  desire  to  see  the  world.  This  de 
sire  increased  upon  him  as  he  grew  up ;  so,  early  one  bright  sunny 
morning,  he  put  all  his  effects  in  a  knapsack,  slung  it  on  his  back, 
took  staff  in  hand,  and  called  in  his  way  to  take  leave  of  his 
early  schoolmate.  Jack  was  just  going  out  with  the  plough :  the 
friends  shook  hands  over  the  farmhouse  gate ;  Jack  drove  his 
team  a-field,  and  Slingsby  whistled  "over  the  hills  and  far 
away,"  and  sallied  forth  gayly  to  "  seek  his  fortune." 

Years  and  years  passed  away,  and  young  Tom  Slingsby  was 
forgotten ;  when,  one  mellow  Sunday  afternoon  in  autumn,  a  thin 
man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  with  a  coat  out  at  elbows,  a  pair 
of  old  nankeen  gaiters,  and  a  few  things  tied  in  a  handkerchief, 
and  slung  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  was  seen  loitering  through  the 
village.  He  appeared  to  regard  several  houses  attentively,  to 
peer  into  the  windows  that  were  open,  to  eye  the  villagers  wist 
fully  as  they  returned  from  church,  and  then  to  pass  some  time  in 
the  church-yard,  reading  the  tombstones. 

At  length  he  found  his  way  to  the  farmhouse  of  Eeady- 
Money  Jack,  but  paused  ere  he  attempted  the  wicket ;  contem 
plating  the  picture  of  substantial  independence  before  him.  In 
the  porch  of  the  house  sat  Eeady-Money  Jack,  in  his  Sunday 
dress ;  with  his  hat  upon  his  head,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  his 
tankard  before  him,  the  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed.  Beside  him 
lay  his  fat  house-dog.  The  varied  sounds  of  poultry  were  heard 


ivv  ounu'viJ, 
I  I 


u'viJ,  f?  JkQj 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER.  2Y1 

from  the  well-stocked  farmyard;  the  bees  hummed  from  their 
hives  in  the  garden ;  the  cattle  lowed  in  the  rich  meadow ;  while 
the  crammed  barns  and  ample  stacks  bore  proof  of  an  abundant 
harvest. 

The  stranger  opened  the  gate  and  advanced  dubiously  toward 
the  house.  The  mastiff  growled  at  the  sight  of  the  suspicious- 
looking  intruder ;  but  was  immediately  silenced  by  his  master ; 
who,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  awaited  with  inquiring  aspect 
the  address  of  this  equivocal  personage.  The  stranger  eyed  old 
Jack  for  a  moment,  so  portly  in  his  dimensions,  and  decked  out 
in  gorgeous  apparel ;  then  cast  a  glance  upon  his  own  thread 
bare  and  starveling  condition,  and  the  scanty  bundle  which  he 
held  in  his  hand ;  then  giving  his  shrunk  waistcoat  a  twitch  to 
make  it  meet  its  receding  waistband,  and  casting  another  look, 
half  sad,  half  humorous,  at  the  sturdy  yeoman,  "  I  suppose,"  said 
he,  "  Mr.  Tibbets,  you  have  forgot  old  times  and  old  playmates." 

The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  scrutinizing  look,  but  acknow 
ledged  that  he  had  no  recollection  of  him. 

"  Like  enough,  like  enough,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  every  body 
seems  to  have  forgotten  poor  Slingsby !  " 

"  Why  no,  sure !  it  can't  be  Tom  Slingsby !  " 

"Yes,  but  it  is  though!"  replied  the  stranger,  shaking  his 
head. 

Eeady-Money  Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  a  twinkling ;  thrust  out 
his  hand,  gave  his  ancient  crony  the  gripe  of  a  giant,  and  slap 
ping  the  other  hand  on  a  bench,  "  Sit  down  there,"  cried  he,. 
"Tom  Slingsby!" 

A  long  conversation  ensued  about  old  times,  while  Slingsby 
was  regaled  with  the  best  cheer  that  the  farmhouse  afforded  ;  for 
he  was  hungry  as  well  as  wayworn,  and  had  the  keen  appetite  of 


272  BRACEBRTDGE   HALL. 

a  poor  pedestrian.  The  early  playmates  then  talked  over  their 
subsequent  lives  and  adventures.  Jack  had  but  little  to  relate, 
and  was  never  good  at  a  long  story.  A  prosperous,  life,  passed 
at  home,  has  little  incident  for  narrative  ;  it  is  only  poor  devils, 
that  are  tossed  about  the  world,  that  are  the  true  heroes  of  story. 
Jack  had  stuck  by  the  paternal  farm,  followed  the  same  plough 
that  his  forefathers  had  driven,  and  had  waxed  richer  and  richer 
as  he  grew  older.  As  to  Tom  Slingsby,  he  was  an  exemplifica 
tion  of  the  old  proverb,  "  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss."  He 
had  sought  his  fortune  about  the  world,  without  ever  finding  it ; 
being  a  thing  oftener  found  at  home  than  abroad.  He  had  been 
in  all  kinds  of  situations,  and  had  learnt  a  dozen  different  modes 
of  making  a  living ;  but  had  found  his  way  back  to  his  native 
village  rather  poorer  than  when  he  left  it,  his  knapsack  having 
dwindled  down  to  a  scanty  bundle. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  Squire  was  passing  by  the  farm 
house  that  very  evening,  and  called  there,  as  is  often  his  custom. 
He  found  the  two  schoolmates  still  gossiping  in  the  porch,  and, 
according  to  the  good  old  Scottish  song,  "  taking  a  cup  of  kind 
ness  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne."  The  Squire  was  struck  by  the 
contrast  in  appearance  and  fortunes  of  these  early  playmates. 
Eeady-Money  Jack,  seated  in  lordly  state,  surrounded  by  the  good 
things  of  this  life,  with  golden  guineas  hanging  to  his  very  watch- 
•  chain ;  and  the  poor  pilgrim  Slingsby,  thin  as  a  weasel,  with  all 
his  worldly  effects,  his  bundle,  hat,  and  walking-staff,  lying  on 
,the  ground  beside  him. 

The  good  Squire's  heart  warmed  towards  the  luckless  cosmo- 
jpolite,  for  he  is  a  little  prone  to  like  such  half-vagrant  characters. 
He  cast  about  in  his  mind  how  he  should  contrive  once  more  to 
.anchor  Slingsby  in  his  native  village.  Honest  Jack  had  already 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER.  273 

offejed  him  a  present  shelter  under  his  roof,  in  spite  of  the  hints, 
and  winks,  and  half  remonstrances  of  the  shrewd  Dame  Tibbets ; 
but  how  to  provide  for  his  permanent  maintenance,  was  the  ques 
tion.  Luckily,  the  Squire  bethought  himself  that  the  village 
school  was  without  a  teacher.  A  little  further  conversation  con 
vinced  him  that  Slingsby  was  as  fit  for  that  as  for  any  thing  else, 
and  in  a  day  or  two  he  was  seen  swaying  the  rod  of  empire  in 
the  very  school-house  where  he  had  often  been  horsed  in  the  days 
of  his  boyhood. 

Here  he  has  remained  for  several  years,  and,  being  honored" 
by  the  countenance  of  the  Squire,  and  the  fast  friendship  of  Mr. 
Tibbets,  he  has  grown  into  much  importance  and  consideration 
in  the  village.  I  am  told,  however,  that  he  still  shows,  now  and 
then,  a  degree  of  restlessness,  and  a  disposition  to  rove  abroad 
again,  and  see  a  little  more  of  the  world ;  an  inclination  which 
seems  particularly  to  haunt  him  about  spring-time.  There  is 
nothing  so  difficult  to  conquer  as  the  vagrant  humor,  when  once 
it  has  been  fully  indulged.  . 

Since  I  have  heard  these  anecdotes  of  poor  Slingsby,  I  have 
more  than  once  mused  upon  the  picture  presepted  by  him  and  his 
schoolmate  Eeady-Money  Jack,  on  their  coming  together  again 
after  so  long  a  separation.  It  is  difficult  to  determine  between 
lots  in  life,  where  each  is  attended  with  its  peculiar  discontents. 
He  who  never  leaves  his  home,  repines  at  his  monotonous  exist 
ence,  and  envies  the  traveller,  whose  life  is  a  constant  tissue  of 
wonder  and  adventure ;  while  he  who  is  tossed  about  the  world, 
looks  back  with  many  a  sigh  to  the  safe  and  quiet  shore  Avhich  he 
has  abandoned.  I  cannot  help  thinking,  however,  that  the  man 
who  stays  at  home,  and  cultivates  the  comforts  and  pleasures  daily 
springing  up  around  him,  stands  the  best  chance  for  happiness. 
12* 


274  BBACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

There  is  nothing  so  fascinating  to  a  young  mind  as  the  id§a  of 
travelling ;  and  there  is  very  witchcraft  in  the  old  phrase  found 
in  every  nursery  tale,  of  "  going  to  seek'one's  fortune."  A  con 
tinual  change  of  place,  and  change  of  object,  promises  a  continual 
succession  of  adventure  and  gratification  of  curiosity.  But  there 
is  a  limit  to  all  our  enjoyments,  and  every  desire  bears  its  death 
in  its  very  gratification.  Curiosity  languishes  under  repeated 
stimulants ;  novelties  cease  to  excite  surprise  ;  until  at  length  we 
cannot  wonder  even  at  a  miracle. 

He  who  has  sallied  forth  into  the  world,  like  poor  Slingsby, 
full  of  sunny  anticipations,  finds  too  soon  how  different  the  dis 
tant  scene  becomes  when  visited.  The  smooth  place  roughens  as 
he  approaches ;  the  wild  place  becomes  tame  and  barren ;  the 
fairy  tints  which  beguiled  him  on,  still  fly  to  the  distant  hill,  or 
gather  upon  the  land  he  has  left  behind ;  and  every  part  of  the 
landscape  seems  greener  than  the  spot  he  stands  on. 


THE  SCHOOL. 

But  to  come  down  from  great  men  and  higher  matters  to  my  little  children  and 
poor  schoolhonse  again ;  I  will,  God  willing,  go  forward  orderly,  as  I  purposed,  to  in 
struct  poor  children  and  young  men  both  for  learning  and  manners. 

EOGEK  AscnAst. 

HAVING  given  the  reader  a  slight  sketch  of  the  village  school 
master,  he  may  be  curious  to  learn  something  concerning  his 
school.  As  the  Squire  takes  much  interest  in  the  education  of 
the  neighboring  children,  he  put  ino  the  hands  of  the  teacher,  on 
first  installing  him  in  office,  a  copy  of  Eoger  Ascham's  School 
master,  and  advised  him,  moreover,  to  con  over  that  portion  of 
old  Peachem  which  treats  of  the  duty  of  masters,  and  which  con 
demns  the  favorite  method  of  making  boys  wise  by  flagellation. 

He  exhorted  Slingsby  not  to  break  down  or  depress  the  free 
spirit  of  the  boys,  by  harshness  and  slavish  fear,  but  to  lead  them 
freely  and  joyously  on  in  the  path  of  knowledge,  making  it  pleas 
ant  and  desirable  in  their  eyes.  He  wished  to  see  the  youth 
trained  up  in  the  manners  and  habitudes  of  the  peasantry  of  the 
good  old  times,  and  thus  to  lay  a  foundation  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  his  favorite  object,  the  revival  of  old  English  customs 
and  character.  He  recommended  that  all  the  ancient  holidays 
should  be  observed,  and  the  sports  of  the  boys,  in  their  hours  of 
play,  regulated  according  to  the  standard  authorities  laid  down  in 


276  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Strutt ;  a  copy  of  whose  invaluable  work,  decorated  with  plates, 
was  deposited  in  the  school-house.  Above  all,  he  exhorted  the 
pedagogue  to  abstain  from  the  use  of  birch ;  an  instrument  of 
instruction  which  the  good  Squire  regards  as  fit  only  for  the  coer 
cion  of  brute  natures,  that  cannot  be  reasoned  with. 

Mr.  Slingsby  has  followed  the  Squire's  instructions  to  the  best 
of  his  disposition  and  ability.  He  never  flogs  the  boys,  because 
he  is  too  easy,  good-humored  a  creature  to  inflict  pain  on  a  worm. 
He  is  bountiful  in  holidays,  because  he  loves  holidays  himself, 
and  has  a  sympathy  with  the  urchins'  impatience  of  confinement, 
from  having  divers  times  experienced  its  irksomeness  during  the 
time  that  he  was  seeing  the  world.  As  to  sports  and  pastimes, 
the  boys  are  faithfully  exercised  in  all  that  are  on  record ;  quoits, 
races,  prison-bars,  tipcat,  trap-ball,  bandy-ball,  wrestling,  leaping, 
and  what  not.  The  only  misfortune  is,  that  having  banished  the 
birch,  honest  Slingsby  has  not  studied  Eoger  Ascham  sufficiently 
to  find  out  a  substitute ;  or  rather,  he  has  not  the  management  in 
his  nature  to  apply  one ;  his  school,  therefore,  though  one  of  the 
happiest,  is  one  of  the  most  unruly  in  the  country ;  and  never 
was  a  pedagogue  more  liked,  or  less  heeded,  by  his  disciples  than 
Slingsby. 

He  has  lately  taken  a  coadjutor  worthy  of  himself;  being 
another  stray  sheep  returned  to  the  village  fold.  This  is  no 
other  than  the  son  of  the  musical  tailor,  who  had  bestowed  some 
cost  upon  his  education,  hoping  one  day  to  see  him  arrive  at  the 
dignity  of  an  exciseman,  or  at  least  of  a  parish  clerk.  The  lad 
grew  up,  however,  as  idle  and  musical  as  his  father ;  and,  being 
captivated  by  the  drum  and  fife  of  a  recruiting  party,  followed 
them  off  to  the  army.  He  returned  not  long  since,  out  of  money,- 
and  out  at  elbows,  the  prodigal  son  of  the  village.  He  remained 


THE   SCHOOL.  277 

for  some  time  lounging  about  the  place  in  half-tattered  soldier's 
dress,  with  a  foraging  cap  on  one  side  of  his  head,  jerking  stones 
across  the  brook,  or  loitering  about  the  tavern  door,  a  burden  to 
his  father,  and  regarded  with  great  coldness  by  all  warm  house 
holders. 

Something,  however,  drew  honest  Slingsby  towards  the  youth. 
It  might  be  the  kindness  he  bore  to  his  father,  who  is  one  of  the 
schoolmaster's  great  cronies ;  it  might  be  that  secret  sympathy 
which  draws  men  of  vagrant  propensities  toward  each  other ;  for 
there  is  something  truly  magnetic  in  the  vagabond  feeling ;  or  it 
might  be,  that  he  remembered  the  time,  when  he  himself  had 
come  back  like  this  youngster,  a  wreck  to  his  native  place.  At 
any  rate,  whatever  the  motive,  Slingsby  drew  towards  the  youth. 
They  had  many  conversations  in  the  village  tap-room  about  for 
eign  parts,  and  the  various  scenes  and  places  they  had  witnessed 
during  their  wayfaring  about  the  world.  The  more  Slingsby 
talked  with  him,  the  more  he  found  him  to  his4  taste :  and  finding 
him  almost  as  learned  as  himself,  he  forthwith  engaged  him  as  an 
assistant,  or  usher,  in  the  school. 

Under  such  admirable  tuition,  the  school,  as  may  be  supposed, 
flourishes  apace  ;  and  if  the  scholars  do  not  become  versed  in  all 
the  holiday  accomplishments  of  the  good  old  times,  to  the  Squire's 
heart's  content,  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of  their  teachers.  The 
prodigal  son  has  become  almost  as  popular  among  the  boys  as  the 
pedagogue  himself.  His  instructions  are  not  limited  to  school- 
hours  ;  and  having  inherited  the  musical  taste  and  talents  of  his 
father,  he  has  bitten  the  whole  school  with  the  mania.  He  is  a 
great  hand  at  beating  a  drum,  which  is  often  heard  rumbling 
from  the  rear  of  the  school-house.  He  is  teaching  half  the  boys 
of  the  village,  also,  to  play  the  fife,  and  the  pandean  pipes ;  and 


278  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

they  weary  the  whole  neighborhood  with  their  vague  pipings,  as 
they  sit  perched  on  stiles,  or  loitering  about  the  barn-doors  in  the 
evenings.  Among  the  other  exercises  of  the  school,  also,  he  has 
introduced  the  ancient  art  of  archery,  one  of  the  Squire's  favorite 
themes,  with  such  success,  that  the  whipsters  roam  in  truant  bands 
about  the  neighborhood,  practising  with  their  bows  and  arrows 
upon  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field ;  and  not 
unfrequently  making  a  foray  into  the  Squire's  domains,  to  the 
great  indignation  of  the  gamekeepers.  In  a  word,  so  completely 
are  the  ancient  English  customs  and  habits  cultivated  at  this 
school,  that  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  the  Squire  should  live  to 
see  one  of  his  poetic  visions  realized,  and  a  brood  reared  up,  wor 
thy  successors  to  Robin  Hood,  and  his  merry  gang  of  outlaws. 


A  VILLAGE  POLITICIAN. 

I  am  a  rogue  if  I  do  not  think  I  was  designed  for  the  helm  of  state ;  I  am  so  full 
of  nimble  stratagems,  that  I  should  have  ordered  affairs,  and  carried  it  against  the 
stream  of  a  faction,  with  as  much  ease  as  a  skipper  would  layer  against  the  wind. 

THE  GOBLINS. 

IN  oue  of  my  visits  to  the  village  with  Master  Simon,  he  pro 
posed  that  we  should  stop  at  the  inn,  which  he  wished  to  show 
me,  as*  a  specimen  of  a  real  country  inn,  the  head-quarters  of 
village  gossip.  I  had  remarked  it  before,  in  my  perambulations 
about  the  place.  It  has  a  deep  old-fashioned  porch,  leading  into 
a  large  hall,  which  serves  for  tap-room  and  travellers' -room ;  hav 
ing  a  wide  fireplace,  with  high-backed  settles  on  each  side,  where 
the  wise  men  of  the  village  gossip  over  their  ale,  and  hold  their 
sessions  during  the  long  winter  evenings.  The  landlord  is  an 
easy,  indolent  fellow,  shaped  a  little  like  one  of  his  own  beer- 
barrels,  and  is  apt  to  stand  gossiping  at  his  own  door,  with  his 
wig  on  one  side,  and  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  Avhilst  his  wife  and 
daughter  attend  to  customers.  His  wife,  however,  is  fully  com 
petent  to  manage  the  establishment ;  and,  indeed,  from  long 
habitude,  rules  over  all  the  frequenters  of  the  tap-room  as  com 
pletely  as  if  they  were  her  dependents  and  not  her  patrons.  Not 
a  veteran  ale-bibber  but  pays  homage  to  her,  having,  no  doubt, 
often  been  in  her  arrears.  I  have  already  hinted  that  she  is  on 


280  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

very  good  terms  with  Ready-Money  Jack.  He  was  a  sweetheart 
of  hers  in  early  life,  and  has  always  countenanced  the  tavern  on 
her  account.  Indeed,  he  is  quite  a  "  cock  of  the  walk  "  at  the 
tap-room. 

As  we  approached  the  inn,  we  heard  some  one  talking  with 
great  volubility,  and  distinguished  the  ominous  words,  "  taxes," 
"  poor's  rates,"  and  "  agricultural  distress."  It  proved  to  be  a 
thin,  loquacious  fellow,  who  had  penned  the  landlord  up  in  one 
corner  of  the  porch,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  listening  with 
an  air  of  the  most  vacant  acquiescence. 

The  sight  seemed  to  have  a  curious  effect  on  Master  Simon, 
as  he  squeezed  my  arm,  and  altering  his  course,  sheered  wide  of 
the  porch,  as  though  he  had  not  had  any  idea  of  entering.  This 
evident  evasion  induced  me  to  notice  the  orator  more  particularly. 
He  was  meagre,  but  active  in  his  make,  with  a  long,  pale,Jbilious 
face ;  a  black  beard,  so  ill-shaven  as  to  leave  marks  of  blood  on 
his  shirt-collar ;  a  feverish  eye,  and  a  hat  sharpened  up  at  the 
sides,  into  a  most  pragmatical  shape.  He  had  a  newspaper  in  his 
hand,  and  seemed  to  be  commenting  on  its  contents,  to  the  thor 
ough  conviction  of  mine  host. 

At  sight  of  Master  Simon  the  landlord  was  evidently  a  little 
flurried,  and  began  to  rub  his  hands,  edge  away  from  his  corner, 
and  make  several  profound  publican  bows ;  while  the  orator  took 
no  other  notice  of  my  companion  than  to  talk  rather  louder  than 
before,  and  with,  as  I  thought,  something  of  an  air  of  defiance. 
Master  Simon,  however,  as  I  have  before  said,  sheered  off  from 
the  porch,  and  passed  on,  pressing  my  arm  within  his,  and  whis 
pering  as  we  got  by,  in  a  tone  of  awe  and  horror,  "  That's  a  rad 
ical  !  he  reads  Cobbett ! " 

I  endeavored  to  get  a  more  particular  account  of  him  from 


A  VILLAGE  POLITICIAN.  281 

my  companion,  but  he  seemed  unwilling  even  to  talk  about  him, 
answering  only  in  general  terms,  that  he  was  "  a  cursed  busy  fel 
low,  that  had  a  confounded  trick  of  talking,  and  was  apt  to  bother 
one  about  the  national  debt,  and  such  nonsense ; "  from  which  I 
suspected  that  Master  Simon  had  been  rendered  wary  of  him  by 
some  accidental  encounter  on  the  field  of  argument ;  for  these 
radicals  are  continually  roving  about  in  quest  of  wordy  warfare, 
and  never  so  happy  as  when  they  can  tilt  a  gentleman  logician 
out  of  his  saddle. 

On  subsequent  inquiry  my  suspicions  have  been  confirmed.  I 
find  the  radical  has  but  recently  found  his  way  into  the  village, 
where  he  threatens  to  commit  fearful  devastations  with  his  doc 
trines.  He  has  already  made  two  or  three  complete  converts,  or 
new  lights ;  has  shaken  the  faith  of  several  others ;  and  has 
grievously  puzzled  the  brains  of  many  of  the  oldest  villagers,  who 
had  never  thought  about  politics,  nor  scarce  any  thing  else,  dur 
ing  their  whole  lives. 

He  is  lean  and  meagre  from  the  constant  restlessness  of  mind 
and  body ;  worrying  about  with  newspapers  and  pamphlets  in  his 
pockets,  which  he  is  ready  to  pull  out  on  all  occasions.  He  has 
shocked  several  of  the  stanchest  villagers,  by  talking  lightly  of 
the  Squire  and  his  family ;  and  hinting  that  it  would  be  better 
the  park  should  be  cut  up  into  small  farms  and  kitchen-gardens, 
or  feed  good  mutton  instead  of  worthless  deer. 

He  is  a  great  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  Squire,  who  is  sadly 
afraid  that  he  Avill  introduce  politics  into  the  village,  and  turn  it 
into  an  unhappy,  thinking  community.  He  is  a  still  greater 
grievance  to  Master  Simon,  who  has  hitherto  been  able  to  sway 
the  political  opinions  of  the  place,  without  much  cost  of  learning 
or  logic ;  but  has  been  much  puzzled  of  late  to  weed  out  the 


282  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

doubts  and  heresies  already  sown  by  this  champion  of  reform. 
Indeed,  the  latter  has  taken  complete  command  at  the  tap-room 
of  the  tavern,  not  so  much  because  he  has  convinced,  as  because 
he  has  out-talked  all  the  old-established  oracles.  The  apothecary, 
with  all  his  philosophy,  was  as  naught  before  him.  He  has  con 
vinced  and  converted  the  landlord  at  least  a  dozen  times ;  who, 
however,  is  liable  to  be  convinced  and  converted  the  other  way 
by  the  next  person  with  whom  he  talks.  It  is  true  the  radical 
has  a  violent  antagonist  in  the  landlady,  who  is  vehemently  loyal, 
and  thoroughly  devoted  to  the  king,  Master  Simon,  and  the 
Squire.  She  now  and  then  comes  out  upon  the  reformer  with  all 
the  fierceness  of  a  cat-o'-mountain,  and  does  not  spare  her  own 
soft-headed  husband,  for  listening  to  what  she  terms  such  "low 
lived  politics."  What  makes  the  good  woman  the  more  violent,  is 
the  perfect  coolness  with  which  the  radical  listens  to  her  attacks, 
drawing  his  face  up  into  a  provoking,  supercilious  smile ;  and 
when  she  has  talked  herself  out  of  breath,  quietly  asking  her  for 
a  taste  of  her  home-brewed. 

The  only  person  in  any  way  a  match  for  this  redoubtable  poli 
tician  is  Eeady-Money  Jack  Tibbets ;  who  maintains  his  stand  in 
the  tap-room,  in  defiance  of  the  radical  and  all  his  works.  Jack 
is  one  of  the  most  loyal  men  in  the  country,  without  being  able 
to  reason  about  the  matter.  He  has  that  admirable  quality  for  a 
tough  arguer,  also,  that  he  never  knows  when  he  is  beat.  He 
has  half  a  dozen  old  maxims,  which  he  advances  on  all  occasions, 
and  though  his  antagonist  may  overturn  them  ever  so  often,  yet 
he  always  brings  them  anew  to  the  field.  He  is  like  the  robber 
in  Ariosto,  who,  though  his  head  might  be  cut  off  half  a  hundred 
times,  yet  whipped  it  on  his  shoulders  again  in  a  twinkling,  and 
returned  as  sound  a  man  as  ever  to  the  charge. 


A   VILLAGE  POLITICIAN.  283 

Whatever  does  not  square  with  Jack's  simple  and  obvious 
creed,  he  sets  down  for  "  French  politics  ; "  for,  notwithstanding 
the  peace,  he  cannot  be  persuaded  that  the  French  are  not  still 
laying  plots  to  ruin  the  nation,  and  to  get  hold  of  the  Bank  of 
England.  The  radical  attempted,  to  overwhelm  him  one  day  by 
a  long  passage  from  a  newspaper ;  but  Jack  neither  reads  nor  be 
lieves  in  newspapers.  In  reply,  he  gave  him  one  of  the  stanzas 
which  he  has  by  heart  from  his  favorite,  and  indeed  only  author, 
old  Tusser,  and  which  he  calls  his  Golden  Eules : 

Leave  princes'  affairs  undescanted  on, 
And  tend  to  such  doings  as  stand  thee  upon  ; 
Fear  God,  and  offend  not  the  king  nor  his  laws, 
And  keep  thyself  out  of  the  magistrate's  claws. 

When  Tibbets  had  pronounced  this  with  great  emphasis,  he 
pulled  out  a  well-filled  leathern  purse,  took  out  a  handful  of  gold 
and  silver,  paid  his  score  at  the  bar  with  great  punctuality,  re 
turned  his  money,  piece  by  piece,  into  his  purse,  his  purse  into 
his  pocket,  which  he  buttoned  up ;  and  then,  giving  his  cudgel  a 
stout  thump  upon  the  floor,  and  bidding  the  radical  "  good  morn 
ing,  sir !  "  with  the  tone  of  a  man  who  conceives  he  has  com 
pletely  done  for  his  antagonist,  he  walked  with  lionlike  gravity 
out  of  the  house.  Two  or  three  of  Jack's  admirers  who  were 
present,  and  had  been  afraid  to  take  the  field  themselves,  looked 
upon  this  as  a  perfect  triumph,  and  winked  at  each  other  when 
the  radical's  back  was  turned.  "  Ay,  ay !  "  said  mine  host,  as 
soon  as  the  radical  was  out  of  hearing,  "  let  old  Jack  alone ;  I'll 
warrant  he'll  give  him  his  own ! " 


THE  ROOKERY. 

But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles ;  screaming  loud, 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 

COWPEE. 

IN  a  grove  of  tall  oaks  and  beeches,  that  crowns  a  terrace-walk, 
just  on  the  skirts  of  the  garden,  is  an  ancient  rookery ;  which  is 
one  of  the  most  important  provinces  in  the  Squire's  rural  domains. 
The  old  gentleman  sets  great  store  by  his  rooks,  and  will  not  suf 
fer  one  of  them  to  be  killed ;  in  consequence  of  which  they  have 
increased  amazingly :  the  tree-tops  are  loaded  with  their  nests  ; 
they  have  encroached  upon  the  great  avenue,  and  even  established 
in  times  long  past  a  colony  among  the  elms  and  pines  of  the 
church-yard,  which,  like  other  distant  colonies,  has  already  thrown 
off  allegiance  to  the  mother  country. 

The  rooks  are  looked  upon  by  the  Squire  as  a  very  ancient 
and  honorable  line  of  gentry,  highly  aristocratical  in  their  no 
tions,  fond  of  place,  and  attached  to  church  and  state ;  as  their 
building  so  loftily,  keeping  about  churches  and  cathedrals,  and  in 
the  venerable  groves  of  old  castles  and  manor-houses,  sufficiently 
manifests.  The  good  opinion  thus  expressed  by  the  Squire  put 
me  upon  observing  more  narrowly  these  very  respectable  birds ; 


THE   EOOKEEY.  285 

for  I  confess,  to  my  shame,  I  had  been  apt  to  confound  them  with 
their  cousins-german  the  crows,  to  whom,  at  the  first  glance,  they 
bear  so  great  a  family  resemblance.  Nothing,  it  seems,  could  be 
more  unjust  or  injurious  than  such  a  mistake.  The  rooks  and 
crows  are,  among  the  feathered  tribes,  what  the  Spaniards  and 
Portuguese  are  among  nations,  the  least  loving,  in  consequence 
of  their  neighborhood  and  similarity.  The  rooks  are  old-estab 
lished  housekeepers,  high-minded  gentlefolk,  who  have  had  their 
hereditary  abodes  time  out  of  mind ;  but  as  to  the  poor  crows, 
they  are  a  kind  of  vagabond,  predatory,  gipsy  race,  roving  about 
the  country  without  any  settled  home  ;  "  their  hands  are  against 
every  body,  and  every  body's  against  them,"  and  they  are  gib 
beted  in  every  cornfield.  Master  Simon  assures  me  that  a  female 
rook,  who  should  so  far  forget  herself  as  to  consort  with  a  crow, 
would  inevitably  be  disinherited,  and  indeed  would  be  totally  dis 
carded  by  all  her  genteel  acquaintance. 

The  Squire  is  very  watchful  over  the  interests  and  concerns 
of  his  sable  neighbors.  As  to  Master  Simon,  he  even  pretends  to 
know  many  of  them  by  sight,  and  to  have  given  names  to  them ; 
he  points  out  several,  which  he  says  are  old  heads  of  families,  and 
compares  them  to  worthy  old  citizens,  beforehand  in  the  world, 
that  wear  cocked  hats,  and  silver  buckles  in  their  shoes.  Not 
withstanding  the  protecting  benevolence  of  the  Squire,  and  their 
being  residents  in  his  empire,  they  seem  to  acknowledge  no  alle 
giance,  and  to  hold  no  intercourse  or  intimacy.  Their  airy  tene 
ments  are  built  almost  out  of  the  reach  of  gunshot ;  and  notwith 
standing  their  vicinity  to  the  Hall,  they  maintain  a  most  reserved 
and  distrustful  shyness  of  mankind. 

There  is  one  season  of  the  year,  however,  Avhich  brings  all 
birds  in  a  manner  to  a  level,  and  tames  the  pride  of  the  loftiest 


286  BKACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

high-flier,  which  is  the  season  of  building  their  nests.  This  takes 
place  early  in  the  spring,  when  the  forest-trees  first  begin  to  show 
their  buds,  and  the  long,  withy  ends  of  the  branches  to  turn 
green ;  when  the  wild  strawberry  and  other  herbage  of  the  shel 
tered  woodlands  put  forth  their  tender  and  tinted  leaves ;  and  the 
daisy  and  the  primrose  peep  from  under  the  hedges.  At  this 
time  there  is  a  general  bustle  among  the  feathered  tribes  ;  an  in 
cessant  fluttering  about,  and  a  cheerful  chirping;  indicative,  like 
the  germination  of  the  vegetable  world,  of  the  reviving  life  and 
fecundity  of  the  year. 

It  is  then  that  the  rooks  forget  their  usual  stateliness,  and 
their  shy  and  lofty  habits.  Instead  of  keeping  up  in  the  high  re 
gions  of  the  air,  swinging  on  the  breezy  tree-tops,  and  looking 
down  with  sovereign  contempt  upon  the  humble  crawlers  upon 
earth,  they  are  fain  to  throw  off  for  a  time  the  djgnity  of  the  gentle 
man,  to  come  down  to  the  ground,  and  put  on  the  painstaking  and 
industrious  character  of  a  laborer.  They  now  lose  their  natural 
shyness,  become  fearless  and  familiar,  and  may  be  seen  plying 
about  in  all  directions,  with  an  air  of  great  assiduity,  in  search 
of  building  materials.  Every  now  and  then  your  path  will  be 
crossed  by  one  of  these  busy  old  gentlemen,  worrying  about  with 
awkward  gait,  as  if  troubled  with  the  gout,  or  with  corns  on  his 
toes  ;  casting  about  many  a  prying  look  ;  turning  down  first  one 
eye,  then  the  other,  in  earnest  consideration,  upon  every  straw 
he  meets  with ;  until,  espying  some  mighty  twig,  large  enough  to 
make  a  rafter  for  his  air-castle,  he  will  seize  upon  it  with  avidity, 
and  hurry  away  with  it  to  the  tree-top ;  fearing,  apparently,  lest 
•ou  should  dispute  with  him  the  invaluable  prize. 

Like  other  castle-builders,  these  airy  architects  seem  rather 
fanciful  in  the  materials  with  which  they  build,  and  to  like  those 


THE   EOOKERT.  287 

most  which  come  from  a  distance.  Thus,  though  there  are  abun 
dance  of  dry  twigs  on  the  surrounding  trees,  yet  they  never  think 
of  making  use  of  them,  but  go  foraging  in  distant  lands,  and 
come  sailing  home  one  by  one,  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  each 
bearing  in  his  bill  some  precious  piece  of  timber. 

Nor  must  I  avoid  mentioning,  what,  I  grieve  to  say,  rather 
derogates  from  the  grave  and  honorable  character  of  these  ancient 
gentlefolk,  that,  during  the  architectural  season,  they  are  subject 
to  great  dissensions  among  themselves ;  that  they  make  no  scru 
ple  to  defraud  and  plunder  each  other ;  and  that  sometimes  the 
rookery  is  a  scene  of  hideous  brawl  and  commotion,  in  consequence 
of  some  delinquency  of  the  kind.  One  of  the  partners  generally 
remains  on  the  nes^to  guard  it  from  depredation  ;  and  I  have  seen 
severe  contests,  when  some  sly  neighbor  has  endeavored  to  filch 
away  a  tempting  rafter  that  had  captivated  his  eye.  As  I  am  not 
willing  hastily  to  admit  any  suspicion  derogatory  to  the  general 
character  of  so  worshipful  a  people,  I  am  inclined  to  think  these 
larcenies  discountenanced  by  the  higher  classes,  and  even  rigor 
ously  punished  by  those  in  authority ;  for  I  have  now  and  then 
seen  a  whole  gang  of  rooks  fall  upon  the  nest  of  some  individual, 
pull  it  all  to  pieces,  carry  off  the  spoils,  and  even  buffet  the  luck 
less  proprietor.  I  have  concluded  this  to  be  a  signal  punishment 
inflicted  upon  him,  by  the  officers  of  the  police,  for  some  pilfering 
misdemeanor ;  or,  perhaps,  that  it  was  a  crew  of  bailiffs  carrying 
an  execution  into  his  house. 

I  have  been  amused  with  another  of  their  movements  during 
the  building  season.  The  steward  has  suffered  a  considerable 
number  of  sheep  to  graze  on  a  lawn  near  the  house,  somewhat  to- 
the  annoyance  of  the  Squire,  who  thinks  this  an  innovation  on  the 
dignity  of  a  park,  which  ought  to  be  devoted  to  deer  only.  Be 


288  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

this  as  it  may,  there  is  a  green  knoll,  not  far  from  the  drawing- 
room  window,  where  the  ewes  and  lambs  are  accustomed  to  assem 
ble  towards  evening,  for  the  benefit  of  the  setting  sun.  No  sooner 
were  they  gathered  here,  at  the  time  when  these  politic  birds  were 
building,  than  a  stately  old  rook,  who  Master  Simon  assured  me 
was  the  chief  magistrate  of  this  community,  would  settle  down 
upon  the  head  of  one  of  the  ewes,  who,  seeming  unconscious  of 
this  condescension,  would  desist  from  grazing,  and  stand  fixed  in 
motionless  reverence  of  her  august  burden ;  the  rest  of  the  rook 
ery  would  then  come  wheeling  down,  in  imitation  of  their  leader, 
until  every  ewe  had  two  or  three  of  them  cawing,  and  fluttering, 
and  battling  upon  her  back.  Whether  they  requited  the  submis 
sion  of  the  sheep,  by  levying  a  contribution  tpon  their  fleece  for 
the  benefit  of  the  rookery,  I  am  not  certain ;  though  I  presume 
'  they  followed  the  usual  custom  of  protecting  powers. 

The  latter  part  of  May  is  the  time  of  great  tribulation  among 
the  rookeries,  when  the  young  are  just  able  to  leave  the  nests,  and 
balance  themselves  on  the  neighboring  branches.  Now  comes  on 
the  season  of  "  rook-shooting ; "  a  terrible  slaughter  of  the  inno 
cents.  The  Squire,  of  course,  prohibits  all  invasion  of  the  kind 
on  his  territories ;  but  I  am  told  that  a  lamentable  havoc  takes 
place  in  the  colony  about  the  old  church.  Upon  this  devoted  com 
monwealth  the  village  charges  "  with  all  its  chivalry."  Every 
idle  wight,  lucky  enough  to  possess  an  old  gun  or  blunderbuss,  to 
gether  with  all  the  archery  of  Slingsby's  school,  takes  the  field  on 
the  occasion.  In  vain  does  the  little  parson  interfere,  or  remon 
strate,  in  angry  tones,  from  his  study  window  that  looks  into  the 
•church-yard;  there  is  a  continual  popping  from  morning  till 
night.  Being  no  great  marksmen,  their  shots  are  not  often  effec 
tive  ;  but  every  now  and  then  a  great  shout  from  the  besieging 


THE   ROOKERY.  289 

army  of  bumpkins  makes  known  the  downfall  of  some  unlucky, 
squab  rook,  which  comes  to  the  ground  with  the  emphasis  of  a 
squashed  apple-dumpling. 

Nor  is  the  rookery  entirely  free  from  other  troubles  and  disas 
ters.  In  so  aristocratical  and  lofty-minded  a  community,  which 
boasts  so  much  ancient  blood  and  hereditary  pride,  it  is  natural  to 
suppose  that  questions  of  etiquette  will  sometimes  arise,  and 
affairs  of  honor  ensue.  In  fact,  this  is  very  often  the  case ;  bitter 
quarrels  break  out  between  individuals,  which  produce  sad  scuf- 
flings  on  the  tree-tops,  and  I  have  more  than  once  seen  a  regular 
duel  between  two  doughty  heroes  of  the  rookery.  Their  field  of 
battle  is  generally  the  air ;  and  their  contest  is  managed  in  the 
most  scientific  and  elegant  manner ;  wheeling  round  and  round 
each  other,  and  towering  higher  and  higher,  to  get  the  vantage 
ground,  until  they  sometimes  disappear  in  the  clouds  before  the 
combat  is  determined. 

They  have  also  fierce  combats  now  and  then  with  an  invading 
hawk,  and  will  drive  him  off  from  their  territories  by  a  posse 
comitatis.  They  are  also  extremely  tenacious  of  their  domains, 
and  will  suffer  no  other  bird  to  inhabit  the  grove  or  its  vicinity. 
A  very  ancient  and  respectable  old  bachelor  owl  had  for  a  long 
time  his  lodgings  in  a  corner  of  the  grove,  but  has  been  fairly 
ejected  by  the  rooks ;  and  has  retired,  disgusted  with  the  world, 
to  a  neighboring  wood,  where  he  leads  the  life  of  a  hermit,  and 
makes  nightly  complaints  of  his  ill  treatment. 

The  hootings  of  this  unhappy  gentleman  may  generally  be 
heard  in  the  still  evenings,  when  the  rooks  are  all  at  rest ;  and  I 
have  often  listened  to  them,  of  a  moonlight  night,  with  a  kind  of 
mysterious  gratification.  This  gray-bearded  misanthrope,  of 

course,  is  highly  respected  by  the  Squire  ;  but  the  servants  have 
13 


290  BRACEBBIDGE  HALL. 

superstitious  notions  about  him ;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  get 
the  dairy-maid  to  venture  after  dark  near  to  the  wood  which  he 
inhabits. 

Besides  the  private  quarrels  of  the  rooks,  there  are  other  mis- 
fortuues  to  which  they  are  liable,  and  which  often  bring  distress 
into  the  most  respectable  families  of  the  rookery.  Having  the 
true  baronial  spirit  of  the  good  old  feudal  times,  they  are  apt 
now  and  then  to  issue  forth  from  their  castles  on  a  foray,  and  lay 
the  plebeian  fields  of  the  neighboring  country  under  contribution  ; 
in  the  course  of  which  chivalrous  expeditions  they  now  and  then 
get  a  shot  from  the  rusty  artillery  of.  some  refractory  farmer. 
Occasionally,  too,  while  they  are  quietly  taking  the  air  beyond 
the  park  boundaries,  they  have  the  incaution  to  come  within 
reach  of  the  truant  bowmen  of  Slingsby's  school,  and  receive  a 
flight  shot  from  some  unlucky  urchin's  arrow.  In  such  case  the 
wounded  adventurer  will  sometimes  have  just  strength  enough  to 
bring  himself  home,  and,  giving  up  the  ghost  at  the  rookery,  will 
hang  dangling  "  all  abroad "  on  a  bough,  like  a  thief  on  a  gib 
bet  ;  an  awful  warning  to  his  friends,  and  an  object  of  great  com 
miseration  to  the  Squire. 

But,  maugre  all  these  untoward  incidents,  the  rooks  have, 
upon  the  whole,  a  happy  holiday  life  of  it.  When  their  young 
are  reared,  and  fairly  launched  upon  their  native  element,  the  air, 
the  cares  of  the  old  folks  seem  over,  and  they  resume  all  their 
aristocratical  dignity  and  idleness.  I  have  envied  them  the  en 
joyment  which  they  appear  to  have  in  their  ethereal  heights, 
sporting  with  clamorous  exultation  about  their  lofty  bowers; 
sometimes  hovering  over  them,  sometimes  partially  alighting  upon 
the  topmost  branches,  and  there  balancing  with  outstretched 
wings,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze.  Sometimes  they  seem  to  take 


THE   EOOKERT.  291 

a  fashionable  drive  to  the  church,  and  amuse  themselves  by  cir 
cling  in  airy  rings  about  its  spire ;  at  other  times  a  mere  garrison 
is  left  at  home  to  mount  guard  in  their  stronghold  at  the  grove, 
while  the  rest  roam  abroad  to  enjoy  the  fine  weather.  About 
sunset  the  garrison  gives  notice  of  their  return  ;  their  faint  caw 
ing  will  be  heard  from  a  great  distance,  and  they  will  be  seen  far 
off  like  a  sable  cloud,  and  then,  nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  all 
come  soaring  home.  Then  they  perform  several  grand  circuits  in 
the  air,  over  the  Hall  and  garden,  wheeling  closer  and  closer, 
until  they  gradually  settle  down  ;  when  a  prodigious  cawing  takes 
place,  as  though  they  were  relating  their  day's  adventures. 

I  like  at  such  times  to  walk  about  these  dusky  groves,  and 
hear  the  various  sounds  of  these  airy  people  roosted  so  high 
above  me.  As  the  gloom  increases,  their  conversation  subsides, 
and  they  gradually  drop  asleep ;  but  every  now  and  then  there  is 
a  querulous  note,  as  if  some  one  was  quarrelling  for  a  pillow,  or  a 
little  more  of  the  blanket.  It  is  late  in  the  evening  before  they 
completely  sink  to  repose,  and  then  their  old  anchorite  neighbor, 
the  owl,  begins  his  lonely  hootings,  from  his  bachelor's-hall,  in 
the  wood. 


MAY-DAY. 

It  is  the  choice  time  of  the  year 
For  the  violets  now  appear ; 
Now  the  rose  receives  its  birth, 
And  pretty  primrose  decks  the  earth. 

Then  to  the  May-pole  come  away, 

For  it  is  now  a  holiday. 

ACTEOX  AXD  DlAXA. 

s  I  was  lying  in  bed  this  morning,  enjoying  one  of  those  half 
dreams,  half  reveries,  which  are  so  pleasant  in  the  country,  when 
the  hirds  are  singing  about  the  window,  and  the  sunbeams  peep 
ing  through  the  curtains,  I  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  music. 
On  going  down  stairs,  I  found  a  number  of  villagers,  dressed  in 
their  holiday  clothes,  bearing  a  pole  ornamented  with  garlands 
and  ribbons,  and  accompanied  by  the  village  band  of  music,  under 
the  direction  of  the  tailor,  the  pale  fellow  who  plays  on  the  clari 
net.  They  had  all  sprigs  of  hawthorn,  or,  as  it  is  called,  "  the 
May,"  in  their  hats,  and  had  brought  green  branches  and  flowers 
to  decorate  the  Hall  doors  and  windows.  They  had  come  to  give 
notice  that  the  May-pole  was  reared  on  the  green,  and  to  invite 
the  household  to  witness  the  sports.  The  Hall,  according  to  cus 
tom,  became  a  scene  of  hurry  and  delighted  confusion.  The  ser 
vants  were  all  agog  with  May  and  music;  and  there  was  no 
keeping  either  the  tongues  or  the  feet  of  the  maids  quiet,  who 


:ptrr~NAM:. 


MAY-DAT.  293 

were  anticipating  the  sports  of  the  green,  and-  the  evening 
dance. 

I  repaired  to  the  village  at  an  early  hour  to  enjoy  the  merry 
making.  The  morning  was  pure  and  sunny,  such  as  a  May 
morning  is  always  described.  The  fields  were  white  with  daisies, 
the  hawthorn  was  covered  with  its  fragrant  blossoms,  the  bee 
hummed  about  every  bank,  and  the  swallow  played  high  in  the 
air  about  the  village  steeple.  It  was  one  of  those  genial  days 
when  we  seem  to  draw  in  pleasure  with  the  very  air  we  breathe, 
and  to  feel  happy  we  know  not  why.  Whoever  has  felt  the 
worth  of  worthy  man,  or  has  doted  on  lovely  woman,  will,  on 
such  a  day,  call  them  tenderly  to  mind,  and  feel  his  heart  all 
alive  with  long-buried  recollections.  "For  thenne,"  says  the 
excellent  romance  of  King  Arthur,  "  lovers  call  ageyne  to  their 
mynde  old  gentilnes  and  old  servyse,  and  many  kind  dedes,  that 
were  forgotten  by  neglygence." 

Before  reaching  the  village,  I  saw  the  May-pole  towering 
above  the  cottages,  with  its  gay  garlands  and  streamers,  and  heard 
the  sound  of  music.  Booths  had  been  set  up  near  it,  for  the  re 
ception  of  company ;  and  a  bower  of  green  branches  and  flowers 
for  the  Queen  of  May,  a  fresh,  rosy-cheeked  girl  of  the  village. 

A  band  of  morris-dancers  were  capering  on  the  green  in  their 
fantastic  dresses,  jingling  with  hawks'  bells,  with  a  boy  dressed 
up  as  Maid  Marian,  and  the  attendant  fool  rattling  his  box  to 
collect  contributions  from  the  bystanders.  The  gipsy-women  too 
were  already  plying  their  mystery  in  by-corners  of  the  village, 
reading  the  hands  of  the  simple  country  girls,  and  no  doubt 
promising  them  all  good  husbands  and  tribes  of  children. 

The  Squire  made  his  appearance  in  the  course  of  the  morn 
ing  attended  by  the  parson,  and  was  received  with  loud  acclama- 


294  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

tions.  He  mingled  among  the  country  people  throughout  the 
day,  giving  and  receiving  pleasure  wherever  he  went.  The 
amusements  of  the  day  were  under  the  management  of  Slingsby, 
the  schoolmaster,  who  is  not  merely  lord  of  misrule  in  his  school, 
but  master  of  the  revels  to  the  village.  He  was  bustling  about 
with  the  perplexed  and  anxious  air  of  a  man  who  has  the  oppres 
sive  burden  of  promoting  other  people's  merriment  upon  his 
mind.  He  had  involved  himself  in  a  dozen  scrapes  in  conse 
quence  of  a  politic  intrigue,  which,  by  the  by,  Master  Simon  and 
the  Oxonian  were  at  the  bottom  of,  which  had  for  its  object  the 
election  of  the  Queen  of  May.  He  had  met  with  violent  opposi 
tion  from  a  faction  of  ale-drinkers,  who  were  in  favor  of  a  bounc 
ing  bar-maid,  the  daughter  of  the  inn-keeper ;  but  he  had  been 
too  strongly  backed  not  to  carry  his  point,  though  it  shows  that 
these  rural  crowns,  like  all  others,  are  objects  of  great  ambition 
and  heart-burning.  I  am  told  that  Master  Simon  takes  great  in 
terest,  though  in  an  underhand  way,  in  the  election  of  these  May 
day  Queens ;  and  that  the  chaplet  is  generally  secured  for  some 
rustic  beauty  who  has  found  favor  in  his  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  there  were  various  games  of  strength 
and  agility  on  the  green,  at  which  a  knot  of  village  veterans  pre 
sided,  as  judges  of  the  lists.  Among  these  Ready-Money  Jack 
took  the  lead,  looking  with  a  learned  and  critical  eye  on  the  mer 
its  of  the  different  candidates ;  and  though  he  was  very  laconic, 
and  sometimes  merely  expressed  himself  by  a  nod,  it  was  evident 
his  opinions  far  outweighed  those  of  the  most  loquacious. 

Young  Jack  Tibbets  Avas  the  hero  of  the  day,  and  carried  off 
most  of  the  prizes,  though  in  some  of  the  feats  of  agility  he  was 
rivalled  by  the  "  prodigal  son,"  who  appeared  much  in  his  element 
on  this  occasion  ;  but  his  most  formidable  competitor  was  the  no- 


MAY-DAT.  295 

torious  gipsy,  the  redoubtable  "  Star-light  Tom."  I  was  rejoiced 
at  having  an  opportunity  of  seeing  this  "  minion  of  the  moon  "  in 
broad  daylight.  I  found  him  a  tall,  swarthy,  good-looking  fellow, 
with  a  lofty  air,  something  like  what  I  have  seen  in  an  Indian 
chieftain ;  and  with  a  certain  lounging,  easy,  and  almost  graceful 
carriage,  Avhich  I  have  often  remarked  in  beings  of  the  lazaroni 
order,  who  lead  an  idle,  loitering  life,  and  have  a  gentlemanlike 
contempt  of  labor. 

Master  Simon  and  the  old  general  reconnoitred  the  ground 
together,  and  indulged  a  vast  deal  of  harmless  raking  among  the 
buxom  country  girls.  Master  Simon  would  give  some  of  them  a 
kiss  on  meeting  with  them,  and  would  ask  after  their  sisters,  for 
he  is  acquainted  with  most  of  the  farmers'  families.  Sometimes 
he  would  whisper,  and  affect  to  talk  mischievously  with  them, 
and,  if  bantered  on  the  subject,  would  turn  it  off  with  a  laugh, 
though  it  was  evident  he  liked  to  be  suspected  of  being  a  gay 
Lothario  amongst  them. 

He  had  much  to  say  to  the  farmers  about  their  farms ;  and 
seemed  to  know  all  their  horses  by  name.  There  was  an  old  fel 
low,  with  a  round  ruddy  face,  and  a  night-cap  under  his  hat,  the 
village  wit,  who  took  several  occasions  to  crack  a  joke  with  him 
in  the  hearing  of  his  companions,  to  whom  he  would  turn  and 
wink  hard  when  Master  Simon  had  passed. 

The  harmony  of  the  day,  however,  had  nearly,  at  one  time, 
been  interrupted,  by  the  appearance  of  the  radical  on  the  ground, 
with  two  or  three  of  his  disciples.  He  soon  got  engaged  in  argu 
ment  in  the  very  thick  of  the  throng,  above  Avhich  I  could  hear 
his  voice,  and  now  then  see  his  meagre  hand,  half  a  mile  out  of 
the  sleeve,  elevated  in  the  air  in  violent  gesticulation,  and  flour 
ishing  a  pamphlet  by  way  of  truncheon.  He  Avas  decrying  these 


296  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

idle  nonsensical  amusements  in  times  of  public  distress,  when  it 
was  every  one's  business  to  think  of  other  matters,  and  to  be 
miserable.  The  honest  village  logicians  could  make  no  stand 
against  him,  especially  as  he  was  seconded  by  his  proselytes ; 
when,  to  their  great  joy,  Master  Simon  and  the  general  came 
drifting  down  into  the  field  of  action.  Master  Simon  was  for 
making  off,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  the  neighborhood  of 
this  fireship ;  but  the  general  was  too  loyal  to  suffer  such  talk  in 
his  hearing,  and  thought,  no  doubt,  that  a  look  and  a  word  from 
a  gentleman  would  be  sufficient  to  shut  up  so  shabby  an  orator. 
The  latter,  however,  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  but  rather 
exulted  in  having  such  important  antagonists.  He  talked  with 
greater  volubility  than  ever,  and  soon  drowned  them  in  declama 
tion  on  the  subject  of  taxes,  poors'  rates,  and  the  national  debt. 
Master  Simon  endeavored  to  brush  along  in  his  usual  excursive 
manner,  which  always  answered  amazingly  well  with  the  villagers ; 
but  the  radical  was  one  of  those  pestilent  fellows  that  pin  a  man 
down  to  facts ;  and,  indeed,  he  had  two  or  three  pamphlets  in  his 
pocket,  to  support  every  thing  he  advanced  by  printed  documents. 
The  general,  too,  found  himself  betrayed  into  a  more  serious 
action  than  his  dignity  could  brook ;  and  looked  like  a  mighty 
Dutch  Indiaman  grievously  peppered  by  a  petty  privateer.  In 
vain  he  swelled  and  looked  big,  and  talked  large,  and  endeavored 
to  make  up  by  pomp  of  manner  for  poverty  of  matter ;  every 
home-thrust  of  the  radical  made  him  wheeze  like  a  bellows,  and 
seemed  to  let  a  volume  of  wind  out  of  him.  In  a  word,  the  two 
worthies  from  the  Hall  were  completely  dumbfounded,  and  this 
too  in  the  presence  of  several  of  Master  Simon's  stanch  admirers, 
who  had  always  looked  up  to  him  as  infallible.  I  do  not  know 
how  he  and  the  general  would  have  managed  to  draw  their  forces 


MAT-DAY.  297 

decently  from  the  field,  had  not  a  match  at  grinning  through  a 
horse-collar  been  announced,  whereupon  the  radical  retired  with 
great  expression  of  contempt,  and,  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
the  argument  was  carried  against  him  all  hollow. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  pack  of  stuff,  general?  "  said  Mas 
ter  Simon  ;  "  there's  no  talking  with  one  of  these  chaps  when  he 
once  gets  that  confounded  Cobbett  in  his  head." 

"  S'blood,  sir !  "  said  the  general,  wiping  his  forehead,  "  such 
fellows  ought  to  be  transported !  " 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  day  the  ladies  from  the  Hall  paid  a 
visit  to  the  green.  The  fair  Julia  made  her  appearance,  leaning 
on  her  lover's  arm,  and  looking  extremely  pale  and  interesting. 
As  she  is  a  great  favorite  in  the  village,  where  she  has  been 
known  from  childhood ;  and  as  her  late  accident  had  been  much 
talked  about,  the  sight  of  her  caused  very  manifest  delight,  and 
some  of  the  old  women  of  the  village  blessed  her  sweet  face  as 
she  passed. 

While  they  were  walking  about,  I  noticed  the  schoolmaster  in 
earnest  conversation  with  the  Queen  of  May,  evidently  endeavor 
ing  to  spirit  her  up  to  some  formidable  undertaking.  At  length, 
as  the  party  from  the  Hall  approached  her  bower,  she  came  forth, 
faltering  at  every  step,  until  she  reached  the  spot  where  the  fair 
Julia  stood  between  her  lover  and  Lady  Lillycraft.  The  little 
Queen  then  took  the  chaplet  of  flowers  from  her  head,  and  at 
tempted  to  put  it  on  that  of  the  bride  elect ;  but  the  confusion  of 
both  was  so  great,  that  the  wreath  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground, 
had  not  the  officer  caught  it,  and,  laughing,  placed  it  upon  the 
blushing  brows  of  his  mistress.  There  was  something  charming 
in  the  very  embarrassment  of  these  two  young  creatures,  both 
so  beautiful,  yet  so  different  in  their  kinds  of  beauty.  Master 
13* 


298  BEACEBRIDGE   BALL. 

Simon  told  me,  afterwards,  that  the  Queen  of  May  was  to  have 
spoken  a  few  verses  which  the  schoolmaster  had  written  for  her ; 
but  she  had  neither  wit  to  understand,  nor  memory  to  recollect 
them.  "  Besides,"  added  he,  "  between  you  and  I,  she  murders 
the  king's  English  abominably ;  so  she  has  acted  the  part  of  a 
wise  woman  in  holding  her  tongue,  and  trusting  to  her  pretty  face." 

Among  the  other  characters  from  the  Hall  was  Mrs.  Hannah, 
my  Lady  Lillycraft's  gentlewoman :  to  my  surprise,  she  was  es 
corted  by  old  Christy,  the  huntsman,  and  followed  by  his  ghost  of 
a  greyhound ;  but  I  find  they  are  very  old  acquaintances,  being 
drawn  together  by  some  sympathy  of  disposition.  Mrs.  Hannah 
moved  about  with  starched  dignity  among  the  rustics,  who  drew 
back  from  her  Avith  more  awe  than  they  did  from  her  mistress. 
Her  mouth  seemed  shut  as  with  a  clasp ;  excepting  that  I  now 
and  then  heard  the  word  '  fellows ! "  escape  from  between  her 
lips,  as  she  got  accidentally  jostled  in  the  crowd. 

But  there  was  one  other  heart  present  that  did  not  enter  into 
the  merriment  of  the  scene,  which  was  that  of  the  simple  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  niece.  The  poor  girl  has  continued 
to  pine  and  whine  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence  of  the  ob 
stinate  coldness  of  her  lover ;  never  was  a  little  flirtation  more 
severely  punished.  She  appeared  this  day  on  the  green,  gallanted 
by  a  smart  servant  out  of  livery,  and  had  evidently  resolved  to 
try  the  hazardous  experiment  of  awakening  the  jealousy  of  her 
lover.  She  was  dressed  in  her  very  best ;  affected  an  air  of 
great  gayety ;  talked  loud  and  girlishly,  and  laughed  when  there 
was  nothing  to  laugh  at.  There  was,  however,  an  aching,  heavy 
heart,  in  the  poor  baggage's  bosom,  in  spite  of  all  her  levity. 
Her  eye  turned  every  now  and  then  in  quest  of  her  reckless 
lover,  and  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and  her  fictitious  gayety  van- 


MAY-DAY.  299 

ished,  on  seeing  him  paying  his  rustic  homage  to  the  little  May 
day  Queen. 

My  attention  was  now  diverted  by  a  fresh  stir  and  bustle. 
Music  was  heard  from  a  distance ;  a  banner  was  advancing  up 
the  road,  preceded  by  a  rustic  band  playing  something  like  a 
march,  and  followed  by  a  sturdy  throng  of  country  lads,  the 
chivalry  of  a  neighboring  and  rival  village. 

No  sooner  had  they  reached  the  green  than  they  challenged 
the  heroes  of  the  day  to  new  trials  of  strength  and  activity.  Sev 
eral  gymnastic  contests  ensued  for  the  honor  of  the  respective 
villages.  In  the  course  of  these  exercises,  young  Tibbets  and  the 
champion  of  the  adverse  party  had  an  obstinate  match  at  wrest 
ling.  They  tugged,  and  strained,  and  panted,  without  either 
getting  the  mastery,  until  both  came  to  the  ground,  and  rolled 
upon  the  green.  Just  then  the  disconsolate  Phrebe  came  by. 
She  saw  her  recreant  lover  in  fierce  contest,  as  she  thought,  and 
in  danger.  In  a  moment  pride,  pique,  and  coquetry  were  forgot 
ten  :  she  rushed  into  the  ring,  seized  upon  the  rival  champion  by 
the  hair,  and  was  on  the  point  of  wreaking  on  him  her  puny  ven 
geance,  Avhen  a  buxom,  strapping  country  lass,  the  sweetheart  of 
the  prostrate  swain,  pounced  upon  her  like  a  hawk,  and  would 
have  stripped  her  of  her  fine  plumage  in  a  twinkling  had  she 
also  not  been  seized  in  her  turn. 

A  cqmplete  tumult  ensued.  The  chivalry  of  the  two  villages 
became  embroiled.  Blows  began  to  be  dealt,  and  sticks  to  be 
flourished.  Phoebe  was  carried  off  from  the  field  in  hysterics. 
In  vain  did  the  sages  of  the  village  interfere.  The  sententious 
apothecary  endeavored  to  pour  the  soothing  oil  of  his  philosophy 
upon  this  tempestuous  sea  of  passion,  but  was  tumbled  into  the 
dust.  Slingsby,  the  pedagogue,  who  is  a  great  lover  of  peace, 


300  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

went  into  the  midst  of  the  throng,  as  marshal  of  the  day,  to  put 
an  end  to  the  commotion ;  but  was  rent  in  twain,  and  came  out 
with  his  garment  hanging  in  two  strips  from  his  shoulders :  upon 
which  the  prodigal  son  dashed  in  with  fury  to  revenge  the  insult 
sustained  by  his  patron.  The  tumult  thickened;  I  caught 
glimpses  of  the  jockey-cap  of  old  Christy,  like  the  helmet  of  a 
chieftain,  bobbing  about  in  the  midst  of  the  scuffle ;  while  Mis 
tress  Hannah,  separated  from  her  doughty  protector,  was  squall 
ing  and  striking  at  right  and  left  with  a  faded  parasol ;  being 
tossed  and  tousled  about  by  the  crowd  in  such  wise  as  never  hap 
pened  to  maiden  gentlewoman  before. 

At  length  old  Ready-Money  Jack  made  his  way  into  the  very 
thickest  of  the  throng ;  tearing  it,  as  it  were,  apart,  and  enforcing 
peace,  vi  et  armis.  It  was  surprising  to  see  the  sudden  quiet  that 
ensued.  The  storm  settled  down  at  once  into  tranquillity.  The 
parties,  having  no  real  grounds  of  hostility,  were  readily  pacified, 
and  in  fact  were  a  little  at  a  loss  to  know  why  and  how  they  had 
got  by  the  ears.  Slingsby  was  speedily  stitched  together  again 
by  his  friend  the  tailor,  and  resumed  his  usual  good  humor.  Mrs. 
Hannah  drew  on  one  side  to  plume  her  rumpled  feathers ;  and 
old  Christy,  having  repaired  his  damages,  took  her  under  his  arm, 
and  they  swept  back  again  to  the  Hall,  ten  times  more  bitter 
against  mankind  than  ever. 

The  Tibbets  family  alone  seemed  slow  in  recovering  from  the 
agitation  of  the  scene.  Young  Jack  was  evidently  very  much 
moved  by  the  heroism  of  the  unlucky  Phrebe.  His  mother,  who 
had  been  summoned  to  the  field  of  action  by  news  of  the  affray, 
was  in  a  sad  panic,  and  had  need  of  all  her  management  to  keep 
him  from  following  his  mistress,  and  coming  to  a  perfect  recon 
ciliation. 


MAY-DAT.  301 

What  heightened  the  alarm  and  perplexity  of  the.  good  man 
aging  dame  was,  that  the  matter  had  aroused  the  slow  apprehen 
sions  of  old  Ready-Money  himself;  who  was  very  much  struck  by 
the  intrepid  interference  of  so  pretty  and  delicate  a  girl,  and  was 
sadly  puzzled  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  violent  agitation 
in  his  family. 

When  all  this  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Squire,  he  was  griev 
ously  scandalized  that  his  May-day  fete  should  have  been  dis 
graced  by  such  a  brawl.  He  ordered  Phoebe  to  appear  before 
him,  but  the  girl  was  so  frightened  and  distressed,  that  she  came 
sobbing  and  trembling,  and,  at  the  first  question  he  asked,  fell 
again  into  hysterics.  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  understood  there  was 
an  affair  of  the  heart  at  the  bottom  of  this  distress,  immediately 
took  the  girl  into  great  favor  and  protection,  and  made  her  peace 
with  the  Squire.  This  was  the  only  thing  that  disturbed  the  har 
mony  of  the  day,  if  we  except  the  discomfiture  of  Master  Simon 
and  the  general  by  the  radical.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  the 
Squire  had  very  fair  reason  to  be  satisfied  that  he  had  rode  his 
hobby  thoughout  the  day  without  any  other  molestation. 

The  reader,  learned  in-  these  matters,  will  perceive  that  all 
this  was  but  a  faint  shadow  of  the  once  gay  and  fanciful  rites  of 
May.  The  peasantry  have  lost  the  proper  feeling  for  these  rites, 
and  have^grown  almost  as  strange  to  them  as  the  boors  of  La 
Mancha  were  to  the  customs  of  chivalry  in  the  days  of  the  valor 
ous  Don  Quixote.  Indeed,  I  considered  it  a  proof  of  the  discre 
tion  with  which  the  Squire  rides  his  hobby,  that  he  had  not  pushed 
the  thing  any  farther,  nor  attempted  to  revive  many  obsolete 
usages  of  the  day,  which,  in  the  present  matter-of-fact  times, 
would  appear  affected  and  absurd.  I  must  say,  though  I  do  it 
under  the  rose,  the  general  brawl  in  which  this  festival  had  nearly 


302  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

terminated,  .has  made  me  doubt  whether  these  rural  customs  of 
the  good  old  times  were  always  so  very  loving  and  innocent  as 
we  are  apt  to  fancy  them ;  and  whether  the  peasantry  in  those 
times  were  really  so  Arcadian  as  they  have  been  fondly  repre 
sented.  I  begin  to  fear — 

"  Those  days  were  never ;  airy  dreams 

Sat  for  the  picture,  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Grant  it ;  I  still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favored  such  a  dream." 


**-•$  1 1 1 1 1 1  ^y 

'    '''/I-?,..".  Ti/V'V'   •"'.* 

~"~         ::  "  "',  Ct 


±8 


THE  MANUSCRIPT. 

YESTERDAY  was  a  day  of  quiet  and  repose  after  the  bustle  of 
May-day.  During  the  morning  I  joined  the  ladies  in  a  small 
sitting-room,  the  windows  of  which  came  down  to  the  floor,  and 
opened  upon  a  terrace  of  the  garden,  which  was  set  out  with  deli 
cate  shrubs  and  flowers.  The  soft  sunshine  falling  into  the  room 
through  the  branches  of  trees  that  overhung  the  windows,  the 
sweet  smell  of  flowers,  and  the  singing  of  birds,  produced  a  pleas 
ing  yet  calming  effect  on  the  whole  party.  Some  time  elapsed 
without  any  one  speaking :  Lady  Lillycraft  and  Miss  Templeton 
were  sitting  by  an  elegant  work-table,  near  one  of  the  windows, 
occupied  with  some  pretty  lady-like  work.  The  captain  was  on 
a  stool  at  his  mistress'  feet,  looking  over  some  music ;  and  poor 
Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  has  always  been  a  kind  of  pet  among  the 
ladies,  but  who  has  risen  vastly  in  favor  with  Lady  Lillycraft,  in 
conseqilfcnce  of  some  tender  confessions,  sat  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  with  swollen  eyes,  working  pensively  at  some  of  the  fair 
Julia's  wedding  ornaments. 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  her  ladyship,  who  suddenly 
proposed  a  task  to  the  captain.  "  I  am  in  your  debt,"  said  she,. 
"  for  that  tale  you  read  to  us  the  other  day ;  I  will  now  furnish, 
one  in  return,  if  you'll  read  it :  and  it  is  just  suited  to  this  sweet 
May  morning,  for  it  is  all  about  love !  " 


304  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

The  proposition  seemed  to  delight  every  one  present.  The 
captain  smiled  assent.  Her  ladyship  rang  for  her  page,  and  dis 
patched  him  to  her  room  for  the  manuscript.  "  As  the  captain," 
said  she,  "  gave  us  an  account  of  the  author  of  his  story,  it  is  but 
right  I  should  give  one  of  mine.  It  was  written  by  the  parson 
of  the  parish  where  I  reside.  He  is  a  thin,  elderly  man,  of  a 
delicate  constitution,  but  positively  one  of  the  most  charming  men 
that  ever  lived.  He  lost  his  wife  a  few  years  since ;  one  of  the 
sweetest  women  you  ever  saw.  He  has  two  sons,  whom  he  edu 
cates  himself;  both  of  whom  already  write  delightful  poetry. 
His  parsonage  is  a  lovely  place,  close  by  the  church,  all  overrun 
with  ivy  and  honeysuckles  ;  with  the  sweetest  flower-garden  about 
it ;  for,  you  know,  our  country  clergymen  are  almost  always  fond 
of  flowers,  and  make  their  parsonages  perfect  pictures. 

"  His  living  is  a  very  good  one,  and  he  is  very  much  beloved, 
and  does  a  great  deal  of  good  in  the  neighborhood,  and  among 
the  poor.  And  then  such  sermons  as  he  preaches !  Oh,  if  you 
could  only  hear  one  taken  from  a  text  in  Solomon's  Song,  all 
about  love  and  matrimony,  one  of  the  sweetest  things  you  ever 
heard !  He  preaches  it  at  least  once  a  year,  in  spring  time,  for  he 
knows  I  am  fond  of  it.  He  always  dines  with  me  on  Sundays, 
and  often  brings  me  some  of  the  sweetest  pieces  of  poetry,  all 
.about  the  pleasures  of  melancholy,  and  such  subjects,  that  make 
me  cry  so,  you  can't  think.  I  wish  he  would  publish.  I  think  he 
has  some  things  as  sweet  as  any  thing  of  Moore  or  Lord  Byron. 

"  He  fell  into  very  ill  health,  some  time  ago,  and  was  advised 
to  go  to  the  continent ;  and  I  gave  him  no  peace  until  he  went, 
and  promised  to  take  care  of  his  two  boys  until  he  returned. 

"  He  was  gone  for  above  a  year,  and  was  quite  restored. 
When  he  came  back,  he  sent  me  the  tale  I'm  going  to  show  you. 


THE   MANUSCRIPT. 


305 


— Oh,  here  it  is  !  "  said  she,  as  the  page  put  in  her  hands  a  beau 
tiful  box  of  satin-wood.  She  unlocked  it,  and  among  several 
parcels  on  notes  of  embossed  paper,  cards  of  charades,  and  copies 
of  verses,  she  drew  out  a  crimson  velvet  case,  that  smelt  very 
much  of  perfumes.  From  this  she  took  a  manuscript,  daintily 
written  on  gilt-edged  vellum  paper,  and  stitched  with  a  light  blue 
ribbon.  This  she  handed  to  the  captain,  who  read  the  following 
tale,  which  I  have  procured  for  the  entertainment  of  the  reader. 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 

The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns, 
And  the  merchant  from  the  main, 
But  I  hae  parted  wi'  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

"When  day  is  gone,  and  night  is  come,  ' 

And  a'  are  boun  to  sleep, 

I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 

The  lee-lang  night  and  weep, 

My  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night  and  weep. 

OLD  SCOTCH  BALLAD. 

IN  the  course  of  a  tour  in  Lower  Normandy  I  remained  for  a  day 
or  two  in  the  old  town  of  Honfleur,  which  stands  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Seine.  It  was  the  time  of  a  fete,  and  all  the  world  was 
thronging  in  the  evening  to  dance  at  the  fair,  held  before  the 
chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace.  As  I  like  all  kinds  of  innocent 
merry-making,  I  joined  the  throng. 

The  chapel  is  situated  at  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  or  promon 
tory,  whence  its  bell  may  be  heard  at  a  distance  by  the  mariner 
at  night.  It  is  said  to  have  given  the  name  to  the  port  of  Havre 
de  Grace,  which  lies  directly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Seine.  The  road  up  to  the  chapel  went  in  a  zig-zag  course, 


ANNETTE  DELARBKE.  307 

along  the  brow  of  the  steep  coast ;  it  was  shaded  by  trees,  from 
between  which  I  had  beautiful  peeps  at  the  ancient  towers  of 
Honfleur  below,  the  varied  scenery  of  the  opposite  shore,  the 
white  buildings  of  Havre  in  the  distance,  and  the  wide  sea  be 
yond.  The  road  was  enlivened  by  groups  of  peasant  girls,  in 
bright  crimson  dresses,  and  tall  caps  ;  and  I  found  all  the  flower 
of  the  neighborhood  assembled  on  the  green  that  crowds  the  sum 
mit  of  the  hill. 

The  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  is  a  favorite  resort  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Honfleur  and  its  vicinity,  both  for  pleasure  and 
devotion.  At  this  little  chapel  prayers  are  put  up  by  the  mari 
ners  of  the  port  previous  to  their  voyages,  and  by  their  friends 
during  their  absence;  and  votive  offerings  are  hung  about  its 
walls,  in  fulfilment  of  vows  made  during  times  of  shipwreck  and 
disaster.  The  chapel  is  surrounded  by  trees.  Over  the  portal 
is  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  Child,  with  an  inscription  Avhich 
struck  me  as  being  quite  poetical : 

"  Etoile  de  la  mer,  priez  pour  nous  !  " 
(Star  of  the  sea,  pray  for  us.)- 

On  a  level  spot  near  the  chapel,  under  a  grove  of  noble  trees,  the 
populace  dance  on  fine  summer  evenings ;  and  here  are  held  fre 
quent  fairs  and  fetes,  which  assemble  all  the  rustic  beauty  of  the 
loveliest  parts  of  Lower  Normandy.  The  present  was  an  occasion 
of  the  kind.  Booths  and  tents  were  erected  among  the  trees ; 
there  were  the  usual  displays  of  finery  to  tempt  the  rural  coquette, 
and  of  wonderful  shows  to  entice  the  curious ;  mountebanks  were 
exerting  their  eloquence ;  jugglers  and  fortune-tellers  astonishing 
the  credulous ;  while  Avhole  rows  of  grotesque  saints,  in  wood  and 
wax-work,  were  offered  for  the  purchase  of  the  pious. 


308  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

The  fete  had  assembled  in  one  view  all  the  picturesque  cos 
tumes  of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  and  the  Cote  de  Caux.  I  beheld  tall, 
stately  caps,  and  trim  bodices,  according  to  fashions  which  have 
been  handed  down  from  mother  to  daughter  for  centuries  ;  the  ex 
act  counterparts  of  those  worn  in  the  time  of  the  Conqueror ;  and 
which  surprised  me  by  their  faithful  resemblance  to  those  in  the 
old  pictures  of  Froissart's  Chronicles,  and  in  the  paintings  of 
illuminated  manuscripts.  Any  one,  also,  who  has  been  in  Lower 
Normandy,  must  have  remarked  the  beauty  of  the  peasantry,  and 
that  air  of  native  elegance  which  prevails  among  them.  It  is  to 
this  country,  undoubtedly,  that  the  English  owe  their  good  looks. 
It  was  hence  that  the  bright  carnation,  the  fine  blue  eye,  the  light 
auburn  hair,  passed  over  to  England  in  the  train  of  the  Con 
queror,  and  filled  the  land  with  beauty. 

The  scene  before  me  was  perfectly  enchanting ;  the  assemblage 
of  so  many  fresh  and  blooming  faces ;  the  gay  groups  in  fanciful 
dresses ;  some  dancing  on  the  green,  others  strolling  about,  or 
seated  on  the  grass ;  the  fine  clumps  of  trees  in  the  foreground, 
bordering  the  brow  of  this  airy  height,  and  the  broad  green  sea, 
sleeping  in  summer  tranquillity,  in  the  distance. 

Whilst  I  was  regarding  this  animated  picture,  I  was  struck 
with  the  appearance  of  a  beautiful  girl,  who  passed  through  the 
crowd  without  seeming  to  take  any  interest  in  their  amusements. 
She  was  slender  and  delicate,  without  the  bloom  upon  her  cheek 
usual  among  the  peasantry  of  Normandy,  and  her  blue  eyes  had 
a  singular  and  melancholy  expression.  She  was  accompanied  by 
a  venerable-looking  man,  whom  I  presumed  to  be  her  father. 
There  was  a  whisper  among  the  bystanders,  and  a  wistful  look 
after  her  as  she  passed ;  the  young  men  touched  their  hats,  and 
some  of  the  children  followed  her  at  a  little  distance,  watching 


ANXETTE    DELARBRE.  309 

her  movements.  She  approached  the  edge  of  the  hill,  where 
there  is  a  little  platform,  whence  the  people  of  Honfleur  look  out 
for  the  approach  of  vessels.  Here  she  stood  for  some  time  wav 
ing  her  handkerchief,  though  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but 
two  or  three  fishing-boats,  like  mere  specks  on  the  bosom  of  the 
distant  ocean. 

These  circumstances  excited  my  curiosity,  and  I  made  some 
inquiries  about  her,  which  were  answered  with  readiness  and  in 
telligence  by  a  priest  of  the  neighboring  chapel.  Our  conversa 
tion  drew  together  several  of  the  bystanders,  each  of  whom  had 
something  to  communicate,  and  from  them  all  I  gathered  the  fol 
lowing  particulars. 

Annette  Delarbre  was  the  only  daughter  of  one  of  the  higher 
order  of  farmers,  or  small  proprietors,  as  they  are  called,  of  Pont 
1'Eveque,  a  pleasant  village  not  far  from  Honfleur,  in  that  rich 
pastoral  part  of  Lower  Normandy  called  the  Pays  d'Auge.  An 
nette  was  the  pride  and  delight  of  her  parents,  who  brought  her 
up  with  the  fondest  indulgence.  She  was  gay,  tender,  petulant, 
and  susceptible.  All  her  feelings  were  quick  and  ardent ;  and 
having  never  experienced  contradiction  nor  restraint,  she  was  lit 
tle  practised  in  self-control :  nothing  but  the  native  goodness  of 
her  heart  kept  her  from  running  continually  into  error. 

Even  while  a  child,  her  susceptibility  was  evinced  in  an  at 
tachment  formed  to  a  playmate,  Eugene  la  Forgue,  the  only  son 
of  a  widow  of  the  neighborhood.  Their  childish  love  was  an 
epitome  of  maturer  passion ;  it  had  its  caprices,  and  jealousies, 
and  quarrels,  and  reconciliations.  It  was  assuming  something  of 
a  graver  character  as  Annette  entered  her  fifteenth,  and  Eugene 
his  nineteenth  year,  when  he  was  suddenly  carried  off  to  the  army 
by  the  conscription. 


310  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  his  widowed  mother,  for  he  was  her 
only  pride  and  comfort ;  but  it  was  one  of  those  sudden  bereave 
ments  which  mothers  were  perpetually  doomed  to  feel  in  France, 
during  the  time  that  continual  and  bloody  wars  were  incessantly 
draining  her  youth.  It  was  a  temporary  affliction  also  to  Annette, 
to  lose  her  lover.  With  tender  embraces,  half-childish,  half-woman 
ish,  she  parted  from  him.  The  tears  streamed  from  her  blue  eyes, 
as  she  bound  a  braid  of  her  fair  hair  round  his  wrist ;  but  the 
smiles  still  broke  through ;  for  she  was  yet  too  young  to  feel  how 
serious  a  thing  is  separation,  and  how  many  chances  there  are, 
when  parting  in  this  wide  world,  against  our  ever  meeting 
again. 

Weeks,  months,  years  flew  by.  Annette  increased  in  beauty 
as  she  increased  in  years,  and  was  the  reigning  belle  of  the  neigh 
borhood.  Her  time  passed  innocently  and  happily.  Her  father 
was  a  man  of  some  consequence  in  the  rural  community,  and  his 
house  was  the  resort  of  the  gayest  of  the  village.  Annette  held 
a  kind  of  rural  court ;  she  was  always  surrounded  by  companions 
of  her  own  age,  among  whom  she  shone  unrivalled.  Much  of  their 
time  was  passed  in  making  lace,  the  prevalent  manufacture  of  the 
neighborhood.  As  they  sat  at  this  delicate  and  feminine  labor, 
the  merry  tale  and  sprightly  song  went  round :  none  laughed  with 
a  lighter  heart  than  Annette  ;  and  if  she  sang,  her  voice  was  per 
fect  melody.  Their  evenings  were  enlivened  by  the  dance,  or  by 
those  pleasant  social  games  so  prevalent  among  the  French ;  and 
when  she  appeared  at  the  village  ball  on  Sunday  evenings,  she 
was  the  theme  of  universal  admiration. 

As  she  was  a  rural  heiress,  she  did  not  want  for  suitors. 
Many  advantageous  offers  were  made  her,  but  she  refused  them 
all.  She  laughed  at  the  pretended  pangs  of  her  admirers,  and 


ANNETTE   DELAKBKE.  311 

triumphed  over  them  with  the  caprice  of  buoyant  youth  and  con 
scious  beauty.  With  all  her  apparent  levity,  however,  could  any 
one  have  read  the  story  of  her  heart,  they  might  have  traced  in 
it  some  fond  remembrance  of  her  early  playmate,  not  so  deeply 
graven  as  to  be  painful,  but  too  deep  to  be  easily  obliterated  ;  and 
they  might  have  noticed,  amidst  all  her  gayety,  the  tenderness 
that  marked  her  manner  towards  the  mother  of  Eugene.  She 
would  often  steal  away  from  her  youthful  companions  and  their 
amusements,  to  pass  whole  days  with  the  good  widow ;  listening 
to  her  fond  talk  about  her  boy,  and  blushing  with  secret  pleasure 
when  his  letters  were  read,  at  finding  herself  a  constant  theme  of 
recollection  and  inquiry. 

At  length  the  sudden  return  of  peace,  which  sent  many  a  war 
rior  to  his  native  cottage,  brought  back  Eugene,  a  young  sunburnt 
soldier,  to  the  village.  I  need  not  say  how  rapturously  his  return 
was  greeted  by  his  mother,  Avho  saw  in  him  the  pride  and  staff 
of  her  old  age.  He  had  risen  in  the  service  by  his  merit ;  but 
brought  away  little  from  the  wars,  excepting  a  soldierlike  air,  a 
gallant  name,  and  a  scar  across  the  forehead.  He  brought  back, 
however,  a  nature  unspoiled  by  the  camp.  He  was  frank,  open, 
generous,  and  ardent.  His  heart  Avas  quick  and  kind  in  its  im 
pulses,  and  was  perhaps  a  little  softer  from  having  suffered :  it  was 
full  of  tenderness  for  Annette.  He  had  received  frequent  accounts 
of  her  from  his  mother ;  and  the  mention  of  her  kindness  to  his 
lonely  parent  had  rendered  her  doubly  dear  to  him.  He  had  been 
wounded ;  he  had  been  a  prisoner ;  he  had  been  in  various  trou 
bles,  but  had  always  preserved  the  braid  of  hair,  which  she  had 
bound  round  his  arm.  It  had  been  a  kind  of  talisman  to  him ; 
he  had  many  a  time  looked  upon  it  as  he  lay  on  the  hard  ground, 
and  the  thought  that  he  might  one  day  see  Annette  again,  and 


312  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

the  fair  fields  about  his  native  village,  had  cheered  his  heart,  and 
enabled  him  to  bear  up  against  every  hardship. 

He  had  left  Annette  almost  a  child ;  he  found  her  a  blooming 
woman.  If  he  had  loved  her  before,  he  now  adored  her.  An 
nette  was  equally  struck  with  the  improvement  time  had  made  in 
her  lover.  She  noticed,  with  secret  admiration,  his  superiority  to 
the  other  young  men  of  the  village ;  the  frank,  lofty,  military  air, 
that  distinguished  him  from  all  the  rest  at  their  rural  gatherings. 
The  more  she  saw  him,  the  more  her  light,  playful  fondness  of 
former  years  deepened  into  ardent  and  powerful  affection.  But 
Annette  was  a  rural  belle.  She  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  domin 
ion,  and  had  been  rendered  wilful  and  capricious  by  constant  in 
dulgence  at  home,  and  admiration  abroad.  She  was  conscious 
of  her  power  over  Eugene,  and  delighted  in  exercising  it.  She 
sometimes  treated  him  with  petulant  caprice,  enjoying  the  pain 
which  she  inflicted  by  her  frowns,  from  the  idea  how  soon  she 
would  chase  it  away  again  by  her  smiles.  She  took  a  pleasure  in 
alarming  his  fears,  by  affecting  a  temporary  preference  for  some 
one  or  other  of  his  rivals ;  and  then  would  delight  in  allaying 
them  by  an  ample  measure  of  returning  kindness.  Perhaps  there 
was  some  degree  of  vanity  gratified  by  all  this ;  it  might  be  a 
matter  of  triumph  to  show  her  absolute  power  over  the  young  sol 
dier,  who  was  the  universal  object  of  female  admiration.  Eu 
gene,  however,  was  of  too  serious  and  ardent  a  nature  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  loved  too  fervently  not  to  be  filled  with  doubt.  He 
saw  Annette  surrounded  by  admirers,  and  full  of  animation ;  the 
gayest  among  the  gay  at  all  their  rural  festivities,  and  apparently 
most  gay  when  he  was  most  dejected.  Every  one  saw  through 
this  caprice  but  himself;  every  one  saw  that  in  reality  she  doted 
on  him  ;  but  Eugene  alone  suspected  the  sincerity  of  her  affection. 


ANNETTE    DELAEBRE.  313 

For  some  time  lie  bore  this  coquetry  with  secret  impatience  and 
distrust ;  but  his  feelings  grew  sore  and  irritable,  and  overcame 
his  self-command.  A  slight  misunderstanding  took  place;  a 
quarrel  ensued.  Annette,  unaccustomed  to  be  thwarted  and  con 
tradicted,  and  full  of  the  insolence  of  youthful  beauty,  assumed 
an  air  of  disdain.  She  refused  all  explanations  to  her  lover,  and 
they  parted  in  anger.  That  very  evening  Eugene  saw  her,  full 
of  gayety,  dancing  with  one  of  his  rivals ;  and  as  her  eye  caught 
his,  fixed  on  her  with  unfeigned  distress,  it  sparkled  with  more 
than  usual  vivacity.  It  was  a  finishing  blow  to  his  hopes,  already 
so  much  impaired  by  secret  distrust.  Pride  and  resentment  both 
struggled  in  his  breast,  and  seemed  to  rouse  his  spirit  to  all  his 
wonted  energy.  He  retired  from  her  presence  with  the  hasty  de 
termination  never  to  see  her  again. 

A  woman  is  more  considerate  in  affairs  of  love  than  a  man ; 
because  love  is  more  the  study  and  business  of  her  life.  Annette 
soon  repented  of  her  indiscretion ;  she  felt  that  she  had  used  her 
lover  unkindly ;  she  felt  that  she  had  trifled  with  his  sincere  and 
generous  nature — and  then  he  looked  so  handsome  when  he  parted 
after  their  quarrel — his  fine  features  lighted  up  by  indignation. 
She  had  intended  making  up  with  him  at  the  evening  dance ;  but 
his  sudden  departure  prevented  her.  She  now  promised  herself 
that  when  next  they  met  she  would  amply  repay  him  by  the 
sweets  of  a  perfect  reconciliation,  and  that,  thenceforward,  she 
would  never — never  tease  him  more !  That  promise  \vas  not  to 
be  fulfilled.  Day  after  day  passed ;  but  Eugene  did  not  make 
his  appearance.  Sunday  evening  came,  the  usual  time  when  all 
the  gayety  of  the  village  assembled ;  but  Eugene  was  not  there. 
She  inquired  after  him  ;  he  had  left  the  village.  She  now  became 
alarmed,  and,  forgetting  all  coyness  and  affected  indifference, 
14 


314  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

called  on  Eugene's  mother  for  an  explanation.  She  found  her 
full  of  affliction,  and  learnt  with  surprise  and  consternation  that 
Eugene  had  gone  to  sea. 

While  his  feelings  were  yet  smarting  with  her  affected  disdain, 
and  his  heart  a  prey  to  alternate  indignation  and  despair,  he  had 
suddenly  embraced  an  invitation  which  had  repeatedly  been  made 
him  by  a  relative,  who  was  fitting  out  a  ship  from  the  port  of 
Honfleur,  and  who  wished  him  to  be  the  companion  of  his  voyage. 
Absence  appeared  to  him  the  only  cure  for  his  unlucky  passion ; 
and  in  the  temporary  transports  of  his  feelings,  there  was  some 
thing  gratifying  in  the  idea  of  having  half  the  world  intervene 
between  them.  The  hurry  necessary  for  his  departure  left  no 
time  for  cool  reflection  ;  it  rendered  him  deaf  to  the  remonstrances 
of  his  afflicted  mother.  He  hastened  to  Honfleur  just  in  time  to 
make  the  needful  preparations  for  the  voyage ;  and  the  first  news 
that  Annette  received  of  this  sudden  determination  was  a  letter 
delivered  by  his  mother,  returning  her  pledges  of  affection,  par 
ticularly  the  long- treasured  braid  of  her  hair,  and  bidding  her  a 
last  farewell,  in  terms  more  full  of  sorrow  and  tenderness  than 
upbraiding. 

This  was  the  first  stroke  of  real  anguish  that  Annette  had  ever 
received,  and  it  overcame  her.  The  vivacity  of  her  spirits  were 
apt  to  hurry  her  to  extremes ;  she  for  a  time  gave  way  to  ungov 
ernable  transports  of  affliction  and  remorse,  and  manifested,  in 
the  violence  of  her  grief,  the  real  ardor  of  her  affection.  The 
thought  occurred  to  her  that  the  ship  might  not  yet  have  sailed ; 
she  seized  on  the  hope  with  eagerness,  and  hastened  with  her 
father  to  Honfleur.  The  ship  had  sailed  that  very  morning. 
From  the  heights  above  the  town  she  saw  it  lessening  to  a  speck 
on  the  broad  bosom  of  the  ocean,  and  before  evening  the  white 


ANNETTE   DELAKBBE.  315 

sail  had  faded  from  her  sight.  She  turned  full  of  anguish  to  the 
neighboring  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace,  and  throwing  herself 
on  the  pavement,  poured  out  prayers  and  tears  for  the  safe  return 
of  her  lover. 

When  she  returned  home,  the  cheerfulness  of  her  spirits  was 
at  an  end.  She  looked  back  with  remorse  and  self-upbraiding  on 
her  past  caprices ;'  she  turned  with  distaste  from  the  adulation  of 
her  admirers,  and  had  no  longer  any  relish  for  the  amusements  of 
the  village.  With  humiliation  and  diffidence  she  sought  the 
widowed  mother  of  Eugene ;  but  was  received  by  her  with  an 
overflowing  heart ;  for  she  only  beheld  in  Annette  one  who  could 
sympathize  in  her  doting  fondness  for  her  son.  It  seemed  some 
alleviation  of  her  remorse  to  sit  by  the  mother  all  day,  to  study 
her  wants,  to  beguile  her  heavy  hours,  to  hang  about  her  with  the 
caressing  endearments  of  a  daughter,  and  to  seek  by  every  means, 
if  possible,  to  supply  the  place  of  the  son,  whom  she  reproached 
herself  with  having  driven  away. 

In  the  mean  time  the  ship  made  a  prosperous  voyage  to  her 
destined  port.  Eugene's  mother  received  a  letter  from  him,  in 
which  he  lamented  the  precipitancy  of  his  departure.  The  voyage 
had  given  him  time  for  sober  reflection.  If  Annette  had  been 
unkind  to  him,  he  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  what  was  due  to 
his  mother,  who  was  now  advanced  in  years.  He  accused  him 
self  of  selfishness  in  only  listening  to  the  suggestions  of  his  own 
inconsiderate  passions.  He  promised  to  return  with  the  ship,  to 
make  his  mind  up  to  his  disappointment,  and  to  think  of  nothing 

but  making  his  mother  happy "  And  when  he  does  return," 

said  Annette,  clasping  her  hands  with  transport,  "  it  shall  not  be 
my  fault  if  he  ever  leaves  us  again." 

The  time  approached  for  the  ship's  return.     She  was  daily 


316  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

expected,  when  the  weather  became  dreadfully  tempestuous.  Day 
after  day  brought  news  of  vessels  foundered,  or  driven  on  shore, 
and  the  coast  was  strewed  with  wrecks.  Intelligence  was  re 
ceived  of  the  looked-for  ship  having  been  seen  dismasted  in  a  vio 
lent  storm,  and  the  greatest  fears  were  entertained  for  her  safety. 

Annette  never  left  the  side  of  Eugene's  mother.  She  watched 
every  change  of  her  countenance  with  painful  solicitude,  and  en 
deavored  to  cheer  her  with  hopes,  while  her  own  mind  was  racked 
by  anxiety.  She  tasked  her  efforts  to  be  gay ;  but  it  was  a  forced 
and  unnatural  gayety ;  a  sigh  from  the  mother  would  completely 
check  it ;  and  when  she  could  no  longer  restrain  the  rising  tears, 
she  would  hurry  away  and  pour  out  her  agony  in  secret.  Every 
anxious  look,  every  anxious  inquiry  of  the  mother,  whenever  a 
door  opened,  or  a  strange  face  appeared,  was  an  arrow  to  her  soul. 
She  considered  every  disappointment  as  a  pang  of  her  own  inflic 
tion,  and  her  heart  sickened  under  the  care-worn  expression  of 
the  maternal  eye.  At  length  this  suspense  became  insupportable. 
She  left  the  village  and  hastened  to  Honfleur,  hoping  every  hour, 
every  moment,  to  receive  some  tidings  of  her  lover.  She  paced 
the  pier,  and  wearied  the  seamen  of  the  port  with  her  inquiries.' 
She  made  a  daily  pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace ; 
hung  votive  garlands  on  the  wall,  and  passed  hours  either  kneel 
ing  before  the  altar,  or  looking  out  from  the  brow  of  the  hill  upon 
the  angry  sea. 

At  length  word  was  brought  that  the  long-wished-for  vessel 
was  in  sight.  She  was  seen  standing  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Seine,  shattered  and  crippled,  bearing  marks  of  having  been  sadly 
tempest-tossed.  A  general  joy  was  diffused  by  her  return  ;  and 
there  was  not  a  brighter  eye,  nor  a  lighter  heart,  than  Annette's 
in  the  little  port  of  Honfleur.  The  ship  came  to  anchor  in  the 


ANNETTE   DELARBRE.  317 

river ;  and  a  boat  put  off  for  the  shore.  The  populace  crowded 
down  to  the  pier-head  to  welcome  it.  Annette  stood  blushing, 
and  smiling,  and  trembling,  and  weeping ;  for  a  thousand  pain 
fully  pleasing  emotions  agitated  her  breast  at  the  thoughts  of  the 
meeting  and  reconciliation  about  to  take  place. 

Her  heart  throbbed  to  pour  itself  out,  and  atone  to  her  gallant 
lover  for  all  its  errors.  At  one  moment  she  would  place  herself 
in  a  conspicuous  situation,  where  she  might  catch  his  view  at 
once,  and  surprise  him  by  her  welcome ;  but  the  next  moment  a 
doubt  would  come  across  her  mind,  and  she  would  shrink  among 
the  throng,  trembling  and  faint,  and  gasping  with  her  emotions. 
Her  agitation  increased  as  the  boat  drew  near,  until  it  became 
distressing ;  and  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  her  when  she  perceived 
that  her  lover  was  not  there.  She  presumed  that  some  accident 
had  detained  him  on  board  of  the  ship,  and  felt  that  the  delay 
would  enable  her  to  gather  more  self-possession  for  the  meeting. 
As  the  boat  neared  the  shore,  many  inquiries  were  made,  and 
laconic  answers  returned.  At  length  Annette  heard  some  inqui 
ries  after  her  lover.  Her  heart  palpitated ;  there  was  a  moment's 
pause :  the  reply  was  brief,  but  awful.  He  had  been  washed  from 
the  deck,  with  two  of  the  crew,  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  night, 
when  it  was  impossible  to  render  any  assistance.  A  piercing 
shriek  broke  from  among  the  crowd ;  and  Annette  had  nearly 
fallen  into  the  waves. 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feelings  after  such  a  transient  gleam 
of  happiness,  was  too  much  for  her  harassed  frame.  She  was  car 
ried  home  senseless.  Her  life  was  for  some  time  despaired  of,  and 
it  was  months  before  she  recovered  her  health ;  but  she  never  had 
perfectly  recovered  her  mind :  it  still  remained  unsettled  with  re 
spect  to  her  lover's  fate. 


318  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

"  The  subject,"  continued  my  informer,  "  is  never  mentioned 
in  her  hearing ;  but  she  sometimes  speaks  of  it  herself,  and  it 
seems  as  though  there  were  some  vague  train  of  impressions  in 
her  mind,  in  which  hope  and  fear  are  strangely  mingled ;  some 
imperfect  idea  of  her  lover's  shipwreck,  and  yet  some  expectation 
of  his  return. 

"  Her  parents  have  tried  every  means  to  cheer  her,  and  to 
banish  these  gloomy  images  from  her  thoughts.  They  assemble 
round  her  the  young  companions  in  whose  society  she  used  to 
delight ;  and  they  will  work,  and  chat,  and  sing,  and  laugh,  as 
formerly ;  but  she  Avill  sit  silently  among  them,  and  will  some 
times  weep  in  the  midst  of  their  gayety ;  and,  if  spoken  to,  will 
make  no  reply,  but  look  up  with  streaming  eyes,  and  sing  a  dis 
mal  little  song,  which  she  has  learned  somewhere,  about  a  ship 
wreck.  It  makes  every  one's  heart  ache  to  see  her  in  this  way, 
for  she  used  to  be  the  happiest  creature  in  the  village. 

"  She  passes  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with  Eugene's 
mother ;  whose  only  consolation  is  her  society,  and  who  dotes  on 
her  with  a  mother's  tenderness.  She  is  the  only  one  that  has 
perfect  influence  over  Annette  in  every  mood.  The  poor  girl 
seems,  as  formerly,  to  make  an  effort  to  be  cheerful  in  her  com 
pany  ;  but  will  sometimes  gaze  upon  her  Avith  the  most  piteous 
look,  and  then  kiss  her  gray  hairs,  and  fall  on  her  neck  and  weep. 

u  She  is  not  always  melancholy,  however ;  there  are  occasional 
intervals  when  she  will  be  bright  and  animated  for  days  together ; 
but  a  degree  of  wildness  attends  these  fits  of  gayety,  that  pre 
vents  their  yielding  any  satisfaction  to  her  friends.  At  such 
times  she  will  arrange  her  room,  which  is  all  covered  with  pic 
tures  of  ships  and  legends  of  saints  ;  and  will  wreathe  a  white 
chaplet,  as  for  a  wedding,  and  prepare  wedding  ornaments.  She 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE.  319 

will  listen  anxiously  at  the  door,  and  look  frequently  out  at  the 
window,  as  if  expecting  some  one's  arrival.  It  is  supposed  that 
at  such  times  she  is  looking  for  her  lover's  return  ;  but,  as  no  one 
touches  upon  the  theme,  or  mentions  his  name  in  her  presence, 
the  current  of  her  thoughts  is  mere  matter  of  conjecture.  Now 
and  then  she  will  make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Grace ;  where  she  will  pray  for  hours  at  the  altar,  and  deco 
rate  the  images  with  wreaths  that  she  has  woven ;  or  will  wave 
her  handkerchief  from  the  terrace,  as  you  have  seen,  if  there  is 
any  vessel  in  the  distance." 

Upwards  of  a  year,  he  informed  me,  had  now  elapsed  without 
effacing  from  her  mind  this  singular  taint  of  insanity  ;  still  her 
friends  hoped  it  might  gradually  wear  away.  They  had  at  one 
time  removed  her  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  in  hopes  that 
absence  from  the  scenes  connected  with  her  story  might  have  a 
salutary  effect ;  but,  when  her  periodical  melancholy  returned, 
she  became  more  restless  and  wretched  than  usual,  and,  secretly 
escaping  from  her  friends,  set  out  on  foot,  without  knowing  the 
road,  on  one  of  her  pilgrimages  to  the  chapel. 

This  little  story  entirely  drew  my  attention  from  the  gay  scene 
of  the  fete,  and  fixed  it  upon  the  beautiful  Annette.  While  she 
was  yet  standing  on  the  terrace,  the  vesper-bell  rang  from  the- 
neighboring  chapel.  She  listened  for  a  moment,  and  then  draw 
ing  a  small  rosary  from  her  bosom,  walked  in  that  direction. 
Several  of  the  peasantry  followed  her  in  silence ;  and  I  felt  too- 
much  interested  not  to  do  the  same. 

The  chapel,  as  I  said  before,  is  in  the  midst  of  a  grove,  on  the 
high  promontory.  The  inside  is  hung  round  with  little  models  of 
ships,  and  rude  paintings  of  wrecks  and  perils  at  sea,  and  provi 
dential  deliverances ;  the  votive  offerings  of  captains  and  crews 


320  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

that  have  been  saved.  On  entering,  Annette  paused  for  a  mo 
ment  before  a  picture  of  the  Virgin,  which,  I  observed,  had  re 
cently  been  decorated  with  a  wreath  of  artificial  flowers.  When 
she  reached  the  middle  of  the  chapel  she  knelt  down,  and  those 
who  followed  her  involuntarily  did  the  same  at  a  little  distance. 
The  evening  sun  shone  softly  through  the  checkered  grove  into 
one  window  of  the  chapel.  A  perfect  stillness  reigned  within  ; 
and  this  stillness  was  the  more  impressive,  contrasted  with  the 
distant  sound  of  music  and  merriment  from  the  fair.  I  could  not 
take  my  eyes  off  from  the  poor  suppliant ;  her  lips  moved  as  she 
told  her  beads,  but  her  prayers  were  breathed  in  silence.  It 
might  have  been  mere  fancy  excited  by  the  scene,  that,  as  she 
raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  I  thought  they  had  an  expression  truly 
seraphic.  But  I  am  easily  affected  by  female  beauty,  and  there 
was  something  in  this  mixture  of  love,  devotion,  and  partial  in 
sanity,  inexpressibly  touching. 

As  the  poor  girl  left  the  chapel,  there  was  a  sweet  serenity  in 
her  looks  ;  and  I  was  told  she  would  return  home,  and  in  all 
probability  be  calm  and  cheerful  for  days,  and  even  weeks  ;  in 
which  time  it  was  supposed  that  hope  predominated  in  her  men 
tal  malady ;  and  when  the  dark  side  of  her  mind,  as  her  friends 
call  it,  was  about  to  turn  up,  it  would  be  known  by  her  neglect 
ing  her  distaff  or  her  lace,  singing  plaintive  songs,  and  weeping 
in  silence. 

She  passed  on  from  the  chapel  without  noticing  the  fete,  but 
.smiling  and  speaking  to  many  as  she  passed.  I  followed  her 
-with  my  eyes  as  she  descended  the  winding  road  towards  Hon- 
fleur,  leaning  on  her  father's  arm.  "  Heaven,"  thought  I,  "  has 
ever  its  store  of  balms  for  the  hurt  mind  and  wounded  spirit,  and 
may  in  time  rear  up  this  broken  flower  to  be  once  more  the  pride 


ANNETTE   DELARBEE.  321 

and  joy  of  the  valley.  The  very  delusion  in  which  the  poor  girl 
walks  may  be  one  of  those  mists  kindly  diffused  by  Providence 
over  the  regions  of  thought,  when  they  become  too  fruitful  of 
misery.  The  veil  may  gadually  be  raised  which  obscures  the 
horizon  of  her  mind,  as  she  is  enabled  steadily  and  calmly  to  con 
template  the  sorrows  at  present  hidden  in  mercy  from  her  view. ' 


On  my  return  from  Paris,  about  a  year  afterwards,  I  turned 
off  from  the  beaten  route  at  Eouen,  to  revisit  some  of  the  most 
striking  scenes  of  Lower  Normandy.  Having  passed  through 
the  lovely  country  of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  I  reached  Honfleur  on  a 
fine  afternoon,  intending  to  cross  to  Havre  the  next  morning,  and 
embark  for  England.  As  I  had  no  better  way  of  passing  the 
evening,  I  strolled  up  the  hill  to  enjoy  the  fine  prospect  from  the 
chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace ;  and  while  there,  I  thought  of 
inquiring  after  the  fate  of  poor  Annette  Delarbre.  The  priest 
who  had  told  me  her  story  was  officiating  at  vespers,  after  which 
I  accosted  him,  and  learnt  from  him  the  remaining  circumstances. 
He  told  me  that  from  the  time  I  had  seen  her  at  the  chapel,  her 
disorder  took  a  sudden  turn  for  the  worse,  and  her  health  rap 
idly  declined.  Her  cheerful  intervals  became  shorter  and  less 
frequent,  and  attended  with  more  iricoherency.  She  grew  lan 
guid,  silent,  and  moody  in  her  melancholy ;  her  form  was  wasted, 
her  looks  were  pale  and  disconsolate,  and  it  was  feared  she  would 
never  recover.  She  became  impatient  of  all  sounds  of  gayety, 
and  was  never  so  contented  as  when  Eugene's  mother  was  near 
her.  The  good  woman  watched  over  her  with  patient,  yearning 
solicitude  ;  and  in  seeking  to  beguile  her  sorrows,  would  half  for- 
14* 


322  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

get  her  own.  Sometimes,  as  she  sat  looking  upon  her  pallid  face, 
the  tears  would  fill  her  eyes,  which  when  Annette  perceived,  she 
would  anxiously  wipe  them  away,  and  tell  her  not  to  grieve,  for 
that  Eugene  would  soon  return ;  and  then  she  would  affect  a 
forced  gayety,  as  in  former  times,  and  sing  a  lively  air ;  but  a 
sudden  recollection  would  come  over  her,  and  she  would  burst 
into  tears,  hang  on  the  poor  mother's  neck,  and  entreat  her  not  to 
curse  her  for  having  destroyed  her  son. 

Just  at  this  time,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one,  news  was 
received  of  Eugene ;  who,  it  appears,  was  still  living.  When 
almost  drowned,  he  had  fortunately  seized  upon  a  spar  washed 
from  the  ship's  deck.  Finding  himself  nearly  exhausted,  he  fast 
ened  himself  to  it,  and  floated  for  a  day  and  night,  until  all  sense 
left  him.  On  recovering,  he  found  himself  on  board  a  vessel 
bound  to  India,  but  so  ill  as  not  to  move  without  assistance.  His 
health  continued  precarious  throughout  the  voyage ;  on  arriving 
in  India,  he  experienced  many  vicissitudes,  and  was  transferred 
from  ship  to  ship,  and  hospital  to  hospital.  His  constitution  ena 
bled  him  to  struggle  through  every  hardship ;  and  he  was  now  in  a 
distant  port,  waiting  only  for  the  sailing  of  a  ship  to  return  home. 

Great  caution  was  necessary  in  imparting  these  tidings  to  the 
mother,  and  even  then  she  was  nearly  overcome  by  the  transports 
of  her  joy.  But  how  to  impart  them  to  Annette  was  a  matter  of 
still  greater  perplexity.  Her  state  of  mind  had  been  so  morbid ; 
she  had  been  subject  to  such  violent  changes,  and  the  cause  of  her 
derangement  had  been  of  such  an  inconsolable  and  hopeless  kind, 
that  her  friends  had  always  forborne  to  tamper  with  her  feelings. 
They  had  never  even  hinted  at  the  subject  of  her  griefs,  nor  en 
couraged  the  theme  when  she  adverted  to  it,  but  had  passed  it 
over  in  silence,  hoping  that  time  would  gradually  wear  the  traces 


AXXETTE   DELARBEE.  323 

of  it  from  her  recollection,  or,  at  least,  would  render  them  less 
painful.  They  now  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  undeceive  her  even  in 
her  misery,  lest  the  sudden  recurrence  of  happiness  might  confirm 
the  estrangement  of  her  reason,  or  might  overpower  her  enfeebled 
frame.  They  ventured,  however,  to  probe  those  wounds  which 
they  formerly  did  not  dare  to  touch,  for  they  now  had  the  balm 
to  pour  into  them.  They  led  the  conversation  to  those  topics 
which  they  had  hitherto  shunned,  and  endeavored  to  ascertain  the 
current  of  her  thoughts  in  those  varying  moods  which  had  for 
merly  perplexed  them.  They  found  her  mind  even  more  affected 
than  they  had  imagined.  All  her  ideas  were  confused  and  wan 
dering.  Her  bright  and  cheerful  moods,  which  now  grew  sel- 
domer  than  ever,  were  all  the  effects  of  mental  delusion.  At 
such  times  she  had  no  recollection  of  her  lover's  having  been  in 
danger,  but  was  only  anticipating  his  arrival.  "  When  the  win 
ter  has  passed  away,"  said  she,  "  and  the  trees  put  on  their  blos 
soms,  and  the  swallow  comes  back  over  the  sea,  he  will  return." 
When  she  was  drooping  and  desponding,  it  was  in  vain  to  re 
mind  her  of  what  she  had  said  in  her  gayer  moments,  and  to 
assure  her  that  Eugene  would  indeed  return  shortly.  She  wept 
on  in  silence,  and  appeared  insensible  to  their  words.  But  at 
times  her  agitation  became  violent,  when  she  would  upbraid  her 
self  with  having  driven  Eugene  from  his  mother,  and  brought 
sorrow  on  her  gray  hairs.  Her  mind  admitted  but  one  leading 
idea  at  a  time,  which  nothing  could  avert  or  efface ;  or  if  they 
ever  succeeded  in  interrupting  the  current  of  her  fancy,  it  only 
became  the  more  incoherent,  and  increased  the  feverishness  that 
preyed  upon  both  mind  and  body.  Her  friends  felt  more  alarm 
for  her  than  ever,  for  they  feared  her  senses  were  irrevocably 
gone,  and  her  constitution  completely  undermined. 


324  BEACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

In  the  mean  time  Eugene  returned  to  the  village.  He  was 
violently  affected  when  the  story  of  Annette  was  told  him.  With 
bitterness  of  heart  he  upbraided  his  own  rashness  and  infatuation 
that  had  hurried  him  away  from  her,  and  accused  himself  as  the 
author  of  all  her  woes.  His  mother  would  describe  to  him  all 
the  anguish  and  remorse  of  poor  Annette ;  the  tenderness  with 
which  she  clung  to  her,  and  endeavored,  even  in  the  midst  cf  her 
insanity,  to  console  her  for  the  loss  of  her  son ;  and  the  touching 
expressions  of  affection  mingled  with  her  most  incoherent  wan 
derings  of  thought,  until  his  feelings  would  be  wound  up  to  agony, 
and  he  would  entreat  her  to  desist  from  the  recital.  They  did 
not  dare  as  yet  to  bring  him  into  Annette's  sight ;  but  he  was 
permitted  to  see  her  when  she  was  sleeping.  The  tears  streamed 
down  his  sun-burnt  cheeks  as  he  contemplated  the  ravages  Avhich 
grief  and  malady  had  made ;  and  his  heart  swelled  almost  to 
breaking  as  he  beheld  round  her  neck  the  very  braid  of  hair 
which  she  once  gave  him  in  token  of  girlish  affection,  and  which 
he  had  returned  to  her  in  anger. 

At  length  the  physician  that  attended  her  determined  to  ad 
venture  upon  an  experiment ;  to  take  advantage  of  one  of  those 
cheerful  moods  when  her  mind  was  visited  by  hope,  and  to  en 
deavor  to  engraft,  as  it  were,  the  reality  upon  the  delusions  of 
her  fancy.  These  moods  had  now  become  very  rare,  for  nature 
was  sinking  under  the  continual  pressure  of  her  mental  malady, 
and  the  principle  of 'reaction  was  daily  growing  weaker.  Every 
effort  was  tried  to  bring  on  a  cheerful  interval  of  the  kind.  Sev 
eral  of  her  most  favorite  companions  were  kept  continually  about 
her ;  they  chatted  gayly,  they  laughed,  and  sang,  and  danced ; 
but  Annette  reclined  with  languid  frame  and  hollow  eye,  and  took 
no  part  in  their  gayety.  At  length  the  winter  was  gone ;  the 


ANNETTE   DELAKBKE.  325 

trees  put  forth  their  leaves  ;  the  swallows  began  to  build  in  the 
eaves  of  the  house,  and  the  robin  and  wren  piped  all  day  beneath 
the  window.  Annette's  spirits  gradually  revived.  She  began  to 
deck  her  person  with  unusual  care ;  and  bringing  forth  a  basket 
of  artificial  flowers,  went  to  work  to  wreathe  a  bridal  chaplet  of 
white  roses.  Her  companions  asked  her  why  she  prepared  the 
chaplet.  "  What !  "  said  she  with  a  smile,  "  have  you  not  noticed 
the  trees  putting  on  their  wedding-dresses  of  blossoms  ?  Has  not 
the  swallow  flown  back  over  the  sea  *?  Do  you  not  know  that  the 
time  is  come  for  Eugene  to  return  ?  that  he  will  be  home  to 
morrow,  and  that  on  Sunday  we  are  to  be  married  ?  " 

Her  words  were  repeated  to  the  physician,  and  he  seized  on 
them  at  once.  He  directed  that  her  idea  should  be  encouraged 
and  acted  upon.  Her  words  were  echoed  through  the  house. 
Every  one  talked  of  the  return  of  Eugene  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
they  congratulated  her  upon  her  approaching  happiness,  and 
assisted  her  in  her  preparations.  The  next  morning  the  same 
theme  was  resumed.  She  was  dressed  out  to  receive  her  lover. 
Every  bosom  fluttered  with  anxiety.  A  cabriolet  drove  into  the 
village.  "  Eugene  is  coming !  "  was  the  cry.  She  saw  him  alight 
at  the  door,  and  rushed  with  a  shriek  into  his  arms. 

Her  friends  trembled  for  the  result  of  this  critical  experiment ; 
but  she  did  not  sink  under  it,  for  her  fancy  had  prepared  her  for 
his  return.  She  was  as  one  in  a  dream,  to  whom  a  tide  of  un 
looked-for  prosperity,  that  would  have  overwhelmed  his  waking 
reason,  seems  but  the  natural  current  of  circumstances.  Her 
conversation,  however,  showed  that  her  senses  were  wandering. 
There  was  an  absolute  forgetfulness  of  all  past  sorrow ;  a  wild 
and  feverish  gayety  that  at  times  Avas  incoherent. 

The  next  morning  she  awoke  languid  and  exhausted.     All 


326  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

the  occurrences  of  the  preceding  day  had  passed  away  from  her 
mind  as  though  ih€y  had  heen  the  mere  illusions  of  her  fancy. 
She  rose  melancholy  and  abstracted,  and  as  she  dressed  herself, 
was  heard  to  sing  one  of  her  plaintive  hallads.  When  she  en 
tered  the  parlor,  her  eyes  were  swollen  with  weeping.  She  heard 
Eugene's  voice  without,  and  started ;  passed  her  hand  across  her 
forehead,  and  stood  musing,  like  one  endeavoring  to  recall  a 
dream.  Eugene  entered  the  room,  and  advanced  towards  her  ;  she 
looked  at  him  with  an  eager,  searching  look,  murmured  some  in 
distinct  words,  and,  before  he  could  reach  her,  sank  upon  the  floor. 

She  relapsed  into  a  wild  and  unsettled  state  of  mind ;  but  now 
that  the  first  shock  was  over,  the  physician  ordered  that  Eugene 
should  keep  continually  in  her  sight.  Sometimes  she  did  not 
know  him ;  at  other  times  she  would  talk  to  him  as  if  he  were 
going  to  sea,  and  would  implore  him  not  to  part  from  her  in  an 
ger  ;  and  when  he  was  not  present,  she  would  speak  of  him  as  if 
buried  in  the  ocean,  and  would  sit,  with  clasped  hands,  looking 
upon  the  ground,  the  picture  of  despair. 

As  the  agitation  of  her  feelings  subsided,  and  her  frame  re 
covered  from  the  shock  it  had  received,  she  became  more  placid 
and  coherent.  Eugene  kept  almost  continually  near  her.  He 
formed  the  real  object  round  which  her  scattered  ideas  once  more 
gathered,  and  which  linked  them  once  more  with  the  realities  of 
life.  But  her  changeful  disorder  now  appeared  to  take  a  new 
turn.  She  became  languid  and  inert,  and  would  sit  for  hours 
silent,  and  almost  in  a  state  of  lethargy.  If  roused  from  this 
stupor,  it  seemed  as  if  her  mind  would  make  some  attempt  to 
follow  up  a  train  of  thought,  but  would  soon  become  confused. 
She  would  regard  every  one  that  approached  her  with  an  anxious 
and  inquiring  eye,  that  seemed  continually  to  disappoint  itself. 


A2TNETTE  DELAKBKE.  327 

Sometimes,  as  her  lover  sat  holding  her  hand,  she  would  look 
pensively  in  his  face  without  saying  a  word,  until  his  heart  Avas 
overcome ;  and  after  these  transient  fits  of  intellectual  exertion, 
she  would  sink  again  into  lethargy. 

By  degrees  this  stupor  increased ;  her  mind  appeared  to  have 
subsided  into  a  stagnant  and  almost  deathlike  calm.  For  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  her  eyes  were  closed ;  her  face  was  almost 
as  fixed  and  passionless  as  that  of  a  corpse.  She  no  longer  took 
any  notice  of  surrounding  objects.  There  was  an  awfulness  in 
this  tranquillity  that  filled  her  friends  with  apprehensions.  The 
physician  ordered  that  she  should  be  kept  perfectly  quiet ;  or 
that,  if  she  evinced  any  agitation,  she  should  be  gently  lulled, 
like  a  child,  by  some  favorite  tune. 

She  remained  in  this  state  for  hours,  hardly  seeming  to  breathe, 
and  apparently  sinking  into  the  sleep  of  death.  Her  chamber 
was  profoundly  still.  The  attendants  moved  about  it  with  noise 
less  tread  ;  every  thing  was  communicated  by  signs  and  whispers. 
Her  lover  sat  by  her  side  Avatching  her  with  painful  anxiety,  and 
fearing  every  breath  which  stole  from  her  pale  lips  would  be  the 
last. 

At  length  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh ;  and  from  some  convulsive 
motions,  appeared  to  be  troubled  in  her  sleep.  Her  agitation  in 
creased,  accompanied  by  an  indistinct  moaning.  One  of  her  com 
panions,  remembering  the  physician's  instructions,  endeavored  to 
lull  her  by  singing,  in  a  low  voice,  a  tender  little  air,  which  was 
a  particular  favorite  of  Annette's.  Probably  it  had  some  connec 
tion  in  her  mind  with  her  own  story ;  for  every  fond  girl  has  some 
ditty  of  the  kind,  linked  in  her  thoughts  with  sweet  and  sad  re 
membrances. 

As  she  sang,  the  agitation  of  Annette  subsided.     A  streak  of 


328  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

faint  color  came  into  her  cheeks  ;  her  eyelids  became  swollen  with 
rising  tears,  which  trembled  there  for  a  moment,  and  then,  steal 
ing  forth,  coursed  down  her  pallid  cheek.  When  the  song  was 
ended,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  about  her,  as  one  awak 
ing  in  a  strange  place. 

"  Oh  Eugene !  Eugene !  "  said  she,  "  it  seems  as  if  I  have 
had  a  long  and  dismal  dream :  what  has  happened,  and  what  has 
been  the  matter  with  me  *? " 

The  questions  were  embarrassing ;  and  before  they  could  be 
answered,  the  physician,  who  was  in  the  next  room,  entered.  She 
took  him  by  the  hand,  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  made  the  same 
inquiry.  He  endeavored  to  put  her  off  with  some  evasive  an 
swer  ; — "  No,  no !  "  cried  she,  "  I  know  I  have  been  ill,  and  I  have 
been  dreaming  strangely.  I  thought  Eugene  had  left  us — and 
that  he  had  gone  to  sea — and  that — and  that  he  was  drowned ! — 
But  he  has  been  to  sea !  "  added  she  earnestly,  as  recollection  kept 
flashing  upon  her,  "  and  he  has  been  wrecked — and  we  were  all 
so  wretched — and  he  came  home  again  one  bright  morning — and 
— Oh !  "  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  against  her  forehead  with  a 
sickly  smile,  "  I  see  how  it  is ;  all  has  not  been  right  here.  I  be 
gin  to  recollect — but  it  is  all  past  now — Eugene  is  here !  and  his 
mother  is  happy — and  we  will  never — never  part  again — shall 
we,  Eugene?" 

She  sunk  back  in  her  chair  exhausted ;  the  tears  streamed 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  companions  hovered  round  her,  not  know 
ing  what  to  make  of  this  sudden  dawn  of  reason.  Her  lover 
,  sobbed  aloud.  She  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  looked  upon  them 
with  an  air  of  the  sweetest  acknowledgment.  "  You  are  all  so 
good  to  me ! "  said  she,  faintly. 

The   physician   drew  the   father  aside.      "Your  daughter's 


ANNETTE   DELAKBRE.  329 

mind  is  restored,"  said  he  ;  "  she  is  sensible  that  she  has  been  de 
ranged  ;  she  is  growing  conscious  of  the  past,  and  conscious  of 
the  present.  All  that  now  remains  is  to  keep  her  calm  and  quiet 
until  her  health  is  re-established,  and  then  let  her  be  married,  in 
God's  name ! " 

"  The  wedding  took  place,"  continued  the  good  priest,  "  but  a 
short  time  since ;  they  Avere  here  at  the  last  fete  during  their 
honey-moon,  and  a  handsomer  and  happier  couple  was  not  to  be 
seen  as  they  danced  under  yonder  trees.  The  young  man,  his 
wife,  and  mother,  now  live  on  a  fine  farm  at  Pont  L'Eveque ;  and 
that  model  of  a  ship  which  you  see  yonder,  with  white  flowers 
wreathed  round  it,  is  Annette's  offering  of  thanks  to  our  Lady  of 
Grace,  for  having  listened  to  her  prayers,  and  protected  her  lover 
in  the  hour  of  peril." 


The  captain  having  finished,  there  was  a  momentary  silence. 
The  tender-hearted  Lady  Lillycraft,  who  knew  the  story  by 
heart,  had  led  the  way  in  weeping,  and  indeed  often  began  to 
shed  tears  before  they  came  to  the  right  place. 

The  fair  Julia  was  a  little  flurried  at  the  passage  Avhere  wed 
ding  preparations  were  mentioned ;  but  the  auditor  most  affected 
was  the  simple  Phoebe  Wilkins.  She  had  gradually  dropped  her 
work  in  her  lap,  and  sat  sobbing  through  the  latter  part  of  the 
story,  until  towards  the  end,  when  the  happy  reverse  had  nearly 
produced  another  scene  of  hysterics.  "  Go,  take  this  case  to  my 
room  again,  child,"  said  Lady  Lillycraft  kindly,  "  and  don't  cry 
so  much." 

"  I  won't,  an't  please  your  ladyship,  if  I  can  help  it ; — but 
Pm  glad  they  made  all  up  again,  and  were  married ! " 


330  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

By  the  way,  the  case  of  this  lovelorn  damsel  begins  to  make 
some  talk  in  the  household,  especially  among  certain  little  ladies, 
not  far  in  their  teens,  of  whom  she  has  made  confidants.  She  is 
a  great  favorite  with  them  all,  but  particularly  so  since  she  has 
confided  to  them  her  love  secrets.  They  enter  into  her  concerns 
with  all  the  violent  zeal  and  overwhelming  sympathy  with  which 
little  boarding-school  ladies  engage  in  the  politics  of  a  love  affair. 

I  have  noticed  them  frequently  clustering  about  her  in  private 
conferences,  or  walking  up  and  down  the  garden  terrace  under 
my  window,  listening  to  some  long  and  dolorous  story  of  her 
afflictions ;  of  which  I  could  now  and  then  distinguish  the  ever- 
recurring  phrases  "  says  he,"  and  "  says  she." 

I  accidentally  interrupted  one  of  these  little  councils  of  war, 
when  they  were  all  huddled  together  under  a  tree,  and  seemed  to 
be  earnestly  considering  some  interesting  document.  The  nutter 
at  my  approach  showed  that  there  were  some  secrets  under  dis 
cussion  ;  and  I  observed  the  disconsolate  Phcebe  crumpling  into 
her  bosom  either  a  love-letter  or  an  old  valentine,  and  brushing 
away  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

The  girl  is  a  good  girl,  of  a  soft,  melting  nature,  and  shows 
her  concern  at  the  cruelty  of  her  lover  only  in  tears  and  drooping 
looks ;  but  with  the  little  ladies  who  have  espoused  her  cause,  it 
sparkles  up  into  fiery  indignation :  and  I  have  noticed  oh  Sunday 
many  a  glance  darted  at  the  pew  of  the  Tibbets's,  enough  even 
to  melt  down  the  silver  buttons  on  old  Eeady-Money's  jacket. 


TRAVELLING. 

A  citizen,  for  recreation  sake, 

To  see  the  country  would  a  journey  take 

Some  dozen  mile,  or  very  little  more ; 

Taking  his  leave  with  friends  two  months  before 

"With  drinking  healths,  and  shaking  by  the  hand, 

As  he  had  travail'd  to  some  new-found  land. 

DOCTOR  MEKKIB  MAN.  1609. 

THE  Squire  has  lately  received  another  shock  in  the  saddle,  and 
been  almost  unseated  by  his  marplot  neighbor,  the  indefatigable 
Mr.  Faddy,  who  rides  his  jog-trot  hobby  with  equal  zeal ;  and  is 
so  bent  upon  improving  and  reforming  the  neighborhood,  that  the 
Squire  thinks,  in  a  little  while,  it  will  be  scarce  worth  living  in. 
The  enormity  that  has  thus  discomposed  my  worthy  host,  is  an 
attempt  of  the  manufacturer  to  have  a  line  of  coaches  established, 
that  shall  diverge  from  the  old  route,  and  pass  through  the  neigh 
boring  village. 

I  believe  I  have  mentioned  that  the  Hall  is  situated  in  a  re 
tired  part  of  the  country,  at  a  distance  from  any  great  coach  road ; 
insomuch  that  the  arrival  of  a  traveller  is  apt  to  make  every  one 
look  out  of  the  window,  and  to  cause  some  talk  among  the  ale- 
drinkers  at  the  little  inn.  I  was  at  a  loss,  therefore,  to  account 
for  the  Squire's  indignation  at  a  measure  apparently  fraught  with 


332  BRACEBEIDGE   II ALL. 

convenience  and  advantage,  until  I  found  that  the  conveniences 
of  travelling  were  among  his  greatest  grievances. 

In  fact,  he  rails  against  stage-coaches,  post-chaises,  and  turn 
pike  roads,  as  serious  causes  of  the  corruption  of  English  rural 
manners.  They  have  given  facilities,  he  says,  to  every  hum-drum 
citizen  to  trundle  his  family  about  the  kingdom,  and  have  sent 
the  follies  and  fashions  of  town  whirling,  in  coach-loads,  to  the 
remotest  parts  of  the  island.  The  whole  country,  he  says,  is 
traversed  by  these  flying  cargoes ;  every  by-road  is  explored  by 
enterprising  tourists  from  Cheapside  and  the  Poultry,  and  every 
gentleman's  park  and  lawns  invaded  by  cockney  sketchers  of  both 
sexes,  with  portable  chairs  and  portfolios  for  drawing. 

He  laments  over  this  as  destroying  the  charm  of  privacy,  and 
interrupting  the  quiet  of  country  life ;  but  more  especially  as 
affecting  the  simplicity  of  the  peasantry,  and  filling  their  heads 
with  half-city  notions.  A  great  coach  inn,  he  says,  is  enough  to 
ruin  the  manners  of  a  whole  village.  It  creates  a  horde  of  sots 
and  idlers ;  makes  gapers  and  gazers  and  newsmongers  of  the 
common  people,  and  knowing  jockeys  of  the  country  bumpkins. 

The  Squire  has  something  of  the  old  feudal  feeling.  He 
looks  back  with  regret  to  the  "good  old  times,"  when  journeys 
were  only  made  on  horseback,  and  the  extraordinary  difficulties 
of  travelling,  owing  to  bad  roads,  bad  accommodations,  and  high 
way  robbers,  seemed  to  separate  each  village  and  hamlet  from  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  lord  of  the  manor  was  then  a  kind  of 
monarch  in  the  little  realm  around  him.  He  held  his  court  in 
his  paternal  hall,  and  was  looked  up  to  with  almost  as  much  loy 
alty  and  deference  as  the  king  himself.  Every  neighborhood  was 
a  little  world  within  itself,  having  its  local  manners  and  customs, 
its  local  history  and  local  opinions.  The  inhabitants  were  fonder 


TRAVELLING.  333 

of  their  homes,  and  thought  less  of  wandering.  It  was  looked 
upon  as  an  expedition  to  travel  out  of  sight  of  the  parish  steeple ; 
and  a  man  that  had  been  to  London  was  a  village  oracle  for  the 
rest  of  his  life. 

What  a  difference  between  the  mode  of  travelling  in  those 
days  and  at  present !  At  that  tune,  when  a  gentleman  went 
on  a  distant  visit,  he  sallied  forth  like  a  knight-errant  on  an  en 
terprise,  and  every  family  excursion  was  a  pageant.  How  splen 
did. and  fanciful  must  one  of  those  domestic  cavalcades  have  been, 
where  the  beautiful  dames  were  mounted  on  palfreys  magnifi 
cently  caparisoned,  with  embroidered  harness,  all  tinkling  with 
silver  bells ;  attended  by  cavaliers  richly  attired  on  prancing 
steeds,  and  followed  by  pages  and  serving-men,  as  we  see  them 
represented  in  old  tapestry.  The  gentry,  as  they  travelled  about 
in  those  days,  were  like  moving  pictures.  They  delighted  the 
eyes  and  awakened  the  admiration  of  the  common  people,  and 
passed  before  them  like  superior  beings ;  and  indeed  they  were 
so ;  there  was  a  hardy  and  healthful  exercise  connected  with  this 
equestrian  style,  that  made  them  generous  and  noble. 

In  his  fondness  for  the  old  style  of  travelling,  the  Squire 
makes  most  of  his  journeys  on  horseback,  though  he  laments  the 
modern  deficiency  of  incident  on  the  road,  from  the  want  of  fel 
low-wayfarers,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  every  one  else  is 
whirled  along  in  coaches  and  post-chaises.  In  the  "  good  old 
times,"  on  the  contrary,  a  cavalier  jogged  on  through  bog  and 
mire,  from  town  to  town,  and  hamlet  to  hamlet,  conversing  with 
friars  and  franklens,  and  all  other  chance  companions  of  the 
road ;  beguiling  the  way  with  travellers'  tales,  which  then  were 
truly  wonderful,  for  every  thing  beyond  one's  neighborhood  was 
full  of  marvel  and  romance  ;  stopping  at  night  at  some  "  hostel," 


334  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

where  the  bush  over  the  door  proclaimed  good  wine,  or  a  pretty 
hostess  made  bad  wine  palatable ;  meeting  at  supper  with  travel 
lers,  or  listening  to  the  song  or  merry  story  of  the  host,  who  was 
generally  a  boon  companion,  and  presided  at  his  own  board ;  for, 
according  to  old  Tusser's  "  Innholder's  Poesie," 

"At  meales  my  friend  who  vitleth  here 

And  sitteth  with  his  host, 
Shall  hoth  be  sure  of  hotter  cheere, 
And  'scape  with  lesser  cost." 

The  Squire  is  fond,  too,  of  stopping  at  those  inns  which  may 
be  met  with,  here  and  there,  in  ancient  houses  of  wood  and  plas 
ter,  or  calimanco  houses,  as  they  are  called  by  antiquaries,  with 
deep  porches,  diamond-paned  bow-windows,  panelled  rooms,  and 
great  fireplaces.  He  will  prefer  them  to  more  spacious  and  mod 
ern  inns,  and  would  cheerfully  put  up  with  bad  cheer  and  bad 
accommodations  in  the  gratification  of  his  humor.  They  give 
him,  he  says,  the  feeling  of  old  times,  insomuch  that  he  almost 
expects,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  to  see  some  party  of  weary 
travellers  ride  up  to  the  door,  with  plumes  and  mantles,  trunk- 
hose,  wide  boots,  and  long  rapiers. 

The  good  Squire's  remarks  brought  to  mind  a  visit  I  once 
paid  to  the  Tabard  Inn,  famous  for  being  the  place  of  assemblage 
whence  Chaucer's  pilgrims  set  forth  for  Canterbury.  It  is  in  the 
borough  of  Southwark,  not  far  from  London  Bridge,  and  bears, 
at  present,  the  name  of  "  the  Talbot."  It  has  sadly  declined  in 
dignity  since  the  days  of  Chaucer,  being  a  mere  rendezvous  and 
packing-place  of  the  great  wagons  that  travel  into  Kent.  The 
court-yard,  which  was  anciently  the  mustering-place  of  the  pil 
grims  previous  to  their  departure,  was  now  lumbered  with  huge 


TRAVELLING.  335 

wagons.  Crates,  boxes,  hampers,  and  baskets,  containing  the 
good  things  of  town  and  country,  were  piled  about  them ;  while, 
among  the  straw  and  litter,  the  motherly  hens  scratched  and 
clucked,  with  their  hungry  broods  at  their  heels.  Instead  of 
Chaucer's  motley  and  splendid  throng,  I  only  saw  a  group  of 
wagoners  and  stable-boys  enjoying  a  circulating  pot  of  ale ; 
while  a  long-bodied  dog  sat  by,  with  head  on  one  side,  ear  cocked 
up,  and  wistful  gaze,  as  if  waiting  for  his  turn  at  the  tankard. 

Notwithstanding  this  grievous  declension,  however,  I  was 
gratified  at  perceiving,  that  the  present  occupants  Avere  not  un 
conscious  of  the  poetical  renown  of  their  mansion.  An  inscrip 
tion  over  the  gateway  proclaimed  it  to  be  the  inn  where  Chaucer's 
pilgrims  slept  on  the  night  previous  to  their  departure,  and  at  the 
bottom  of  the  yard  was  a  magnificent  sign,  representing  them  in 
the  act  of  sallying  forth.  I  was  pleased,  too,  at  noticing,  that 
though  the  present  inn  was  comparatively  modern,  the  form  of 
the  old  inn  was  preserved.  There  were  galleries  round  the  yard, 
as  in  old  times,  on  which  opened  the  chambers  of  the  guests.  To 
these  ancient  inns  have  antiquaries  ascribed  the  present  forms  of 
our  theatres.  Plays  were  originally  acted  in  the  inn-yards.  The 
guests  lolled  over  the  galleries,  which  answered  to  our  modern 
dress-circle ;  the  critical  mob  clustered  in  the  yard  instead  of  the 
pit ;  and  the  groups  gazing  from  the  garret  windows,  were  no  bad 
representatives  of  the  gods  of  the  shilling  gallery.  When,  there 
fore,  the  drama  grew  important  enough  to  have  a  house  of  its 
own,  the  architects  took  a  hint  for  its  construction,  from  the  yard 
of  the  ancient  "hostel." 

I  was  so  well  pleased  at  finding  these  remembrances  of  Chau 
cer  and  his  poem,  that  I  ordered  my  dinner  in  the  little  parlor  of 
the  Talbot.  Whilst  it  was  preparing,  I  sat  at  the  window,  musing 


336  BEACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

and  gazing  into  the  court-yard,  and  conjuring  up  recollections  of 
the  scenes  depicted  in  such  lively  colors  by  the  poet,  until,  by 
degrees,  boxes,  bales,  and  hampers,  boys,  wagoners,  and  dogs, 
faded  from  sight,  and  my  fancy  peopled  the  place  with  the  motley 
throng  of  Canterbury  pilgrims.  The  galleries  once  more  swarmed 
with  idle  gazers,  in  the  rich  dresses  of  Chaucer's  time,  and  the 
whole  cavalcade  seemed  to  pass  before  me.  There  was  the  stately 
knight  on  sober  steed,  who  had  ridden  in  Christendom  and  hea 
thenesse,  and  had  "  foughten  for  our  faith  at  Tramissene ; " — and 
his  son,  the  young  squire,  a  lover,  and  a  lusty  bachelor,  with 
curled  locks  and  gay  embroidery ;  a  bold  rider,  a  dancer,  and  a 
writer  of  verses,  singing  and  fluting  all  day  long,  and  "  fresh  as 
the  month  of  May ; " — and  his  "  knot-headed  "  yeoman  ;  a  bold 
forester,  in  green,  with  horn,  and  baudrick,  and  dagger ;  a 
mighty  bow  in  hand,  and  a  sheaf  of  peacock  arrows  shining  be 
neath  his  belt ; — and  the  coy,  smiling,  simple  nun,  with  her  gray 
eyes,  her  small  red  mouth  and  fair  forehead,  her  dainty  person 
clad  in  featly  cloak  and  "  'ypinched  wimple,"  her  coral  beads 
about  her  arm,  her  golden  brooch  with  a  love  motto,  and  her 
pretty  oath  "by  Saint  Eloy;" — and  the  merchant,  solemn  in 
speech  and  high  on  horse,  with  forked  beard  and  "  Flaundrish 
bever  hat;" — and  the  lusty  monk,  "full  fat  and  in  good  point," 
with  berry  brown  palfrey,  his  hood  fastened  with  gold  pin, 
wrought  with  a  love-knot,  his  bald  head  shining  like  glass,  and 
his  face  glistening  as  though  it  had  been  anointed ;  and  the  lean, 
logical,  sententious,  clerke  of  Oxenforde,  upon  his  half-starved, 
scholarlike  horse  ; — and  the  bowsing  sompnour,  with  fiery-cherub 
face,  all  knobbed  with  pimples,  an  eater  of  garlic  and  onions, 
and  drinker  of  "strong  wine,  red  as  blood,"  that  carried  a  cake 
for  a  buckler,  and  babbled  Latin  in  his  cups;  of  whose  brim- 


TRAVELLING.  337 

stone  visage  "  children  were  sore  aferd ; " — and  the  buxom  wife 
of  Bath,  the  widow  of  five  husbands,  upon  her  ambling  nag, 
with  her  hat  broad  as  a  buckler,  her  red  stockings  and  sharp 
spurs ; — and  the  slender,  choleric  reeve  of  Norfolk,  bestriding  his 
good  gray  stot ;  with  close-shaven  beard,  his  hair  cropped  round 
his  ears ;  long,  lean,  calfless  legs  and  a  rusty  blade  by  his  side, — 
and  the  jolly  Limitour,  with  lisping  tongue  and  twinkling  eye, 
well  beloved  of  franklens  and  housewives,  a  great  promoter  of 
marriages  among  young  women,  known  at  the  taverns  in  every 
town,  and  by  every  "hosteler  and  gay  tapstere."  In  short,  be 
fore  I  was  roused  from  my  revery  by  the  less  poetical,  but  more 
substantial  apparition  of  a  smoking  beef-steak,  I  had  seen  the 
whole  cavalcade  issue  forth  from  the  hostel-gate,  with  the  brawny, 
double-jointed,  red-haired  miller,  playing  the  bagpipes  before 
them,  and  the  ancient  host  of  the  Tabard  giving  them  his  fare 
well  God-send  to  Canterbury. 

When  I  told  the  Squire  of  the  existence  of  this  legitimate 
descendant  of  the  ancient  Tabard  Inn,  his  eyes  absolutely  glis 
tened  with  delight.  He  determined  to  hunt  it  up  the  very  first 
time  he  visited  London,  and  to  eat  a  dinner  there,  and  drink  a 
cup  of  mine  host's  best  wine,  in  memory  of  old  Chaucer.  The 
general,  who  happened  to  be  present,  immediately  begged  to  be 
of  the  party,  for  he  liked  to  encourage  these  long-established 
houses,  as  they  are  apt  to  have  choice  old  wines. 

15 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 

Farewell  rewards  and  fairies, 

Good  housewives  now  may  say ; 
For  now  fowle  sluts  In  dairies 

Do  fare  as  well  as  they : 
And  though  they  sweepe  their  hearths  no  lesse 

Than  maids  were  wont  to  doe, 
Yet  who  of  late  for  cleanlinesse 

Finds  sixpence  in  her  shooe  ? 

BISHOP  CORBET. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  the  Squire's  fondness  for  the  marvellous,  and 
his  predilection  for  legends  and  romances.  His  library  contains 
a  curious  collection  of  old  works  of  this  kind,  which  hear  evi 
dent  marks  of  having  been  much  read.  In  his  great  love  for  all 
that  is  antiquated,  he  cherishes  popular  superstitions,  and  listens, 
with  very  grave  attention,  to  every  tale,  however  strange ;  so 
that,  through  his  countenance,  the  household,  and,  indeed,  the 
whole  neighborhood,  is  well  stocked  with  wonderful  stories ;  and 
if  ever  a  doubt  is  expressed  of  any  one  of  them,  the  narrator  will 
generally  observe,  that  "  the  Squire  thinks  there's  something 
in  it." 

The  Hall  of  course  comes  in  for  its  share,  the  common  people 
having  always  a  propensity  to  furnish  a  great  superannuated  build- 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS.  339 

ing  of  the  kind  with  supernatural  inhabitants.  The  gloomy  gal 
leries  of  such  old  family  mansions  ;  the  stately  chambers,  adorned 
with  grotesque  carvings  and  faded  paintings ;  the  sounds  that 
vaguely  echo  about  them  ;  the  moaning  of  the  wind ;  the  cries  of 
rooks  and  ravens  from  the  trees  and  chimney-tops ;  all  produce  a 
state  of  mind  favorable  to  superstitious  fancies. 

In  one  chamber  of  the  Hall,  just  opposite  a  door  which  opens 
upon  a  dusky  passage,  there  is  a  full-length  portrait  of  a  warrior 
in  armor ;  when,  on  suddenly  turning  into  the  passage,  I  have 
caught  a  sight  of  the  portrait,  thrown  into  strong  relief  by  the 
dark  panelling  against  which  it  hangs,  I  have  more  than  once 
been  startled,  as  though  it  were  a  figure  advancing  towards  me. 

To  superstitious  minds,  therefore,  predisposed  by  the  strange 
and  melancholy  stories  connected  with  family  paintings,  it  needs 
but  little  stretch  of  fancy,  on  a  moonlight  night,  or  by  the  flick 
ering  light  of  a  candle,  to  set  the  old  pictures  on  the  walls  in  mo 
tion,  sweeping  in  their  robes  and  trains  about  the  galleries. 

The  Squire  confesses  that  he  used  to  take  a  pleasure  in  his 
younger  days  in  setting  marvellous  stories  afloat,  and  connecting 
them  with  the  lonely  and  peculiar  places  of  the  neighborhood. 
Whenever  he  read  any  legend  of  a  striking  nature,  he  endeavored 
to  transplant  it,  and  give  it  a  local  habitation  among  the  scenes 
of  his  boyhood.  Many  of  these  stories  took  root,  and  he  says  he 
is  often  amused  with  the  odd  shapes  in  which  they  come  back  to 
him  in  some  old  woman's  narrative,  after  they  have  been  circu 
lating  for  years  among  the  peasantry,  and  undergoing  rustic  addi 
tions  and  amendments.  Among  these  may  doubtless  be  numbered 
that  of  the  crusader's  ghost,  which  I  have  mentioned  in  the  ac 
count  of  my  Christmas  visit ;  and  another  about  the  hard-riding 
squire  of  yore,  the  family  Nimrod,  who  is  sometimes  heard  on 


340  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

stormy  winter  nights,  galloping,  with  hound  and  horn,  over  a  wild 
moor  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  Hall.  This  I  apprehend  to 
have  had  its  origin  in  the  famous  story  of  the  wild  huntsman,  the 
favorite  goblin  in  German  tales  ;  though,  by  the  by,  as  I  was  talk 
ing  on  the  subject  with  Master  Simon,  the  other  evening  in  the 
dark  avenue,  he  hinted  that  he  had  himself  once  or  twice  heard 
odd  sounds  at  night,  very  like  a  pack  of  hounds  in  cry ;  and  that 
once,  as  he  was  returning  rather  late  from  a  hunting  dinner,  he 
had  seen  a  strange  figure  galloping  along  this  same  moor ;  but  as 
he  was  riding  rather  fast  at  the  time,  and  in  a  hurry  to  get  home, 
he  did  not  stop  to  ascertain  what  it  was. 

Popular  superstitions  are  fast  fading  away  in  England,  owing 
to  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge,  and  the  bustling  intercourse 
kept  up  throughout  the  country :  still  they  have  their  strongholds 
and  lingering  places,  and  a  retired  neighborhood  like  this  is  apt 
to  be  one  of  them.  The  parson  tells  me  that  he  meets  with  many 
traditional  beliefs  and  notions  among  the  common  people,  which 
he  has  been  able  to  draw  from  them  in  the  course  of  familiar  con 
versation,  though  they  are  rather  shy  of  avowing  them  to  stran 
gers,  and  particularly  to  "  the  gentry,"  who  are  apt  to  laugh  at 
them.  He  says  there  are  several  of  his  old  parishioners  who 
remember  when  the  village  had  its  bar-guest,  or  bar-ghost;  a 
spirit  supposed  to  belong  to  a  town  or  village,  and  to  predict  any 
impending  misfortune  by  midnight  shrieks  and  wailings.  The 
last  time  it  was  heard  was  just  before  the  death  of  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge's  father,  who  was  much  beloved  throughout  the  neighbor 
hood  ;  though  there  are  not  wanting  some  obstinate  unbelievers, 
who  insisted  that  it  was  nothing  but  the  howling  of  a  watch-dog. 
I  have  been  greatly  delighted,  however,  at  meeting  with  some 
traces  of  my  old  favorite,  Robin  Goodfellow,  though  under  a  dif- 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS.  341 

ferent  appellation  from  any  of  those  by  which  I  have  hereto 
fore  heard  him  called.  The  parson  assures  me  that  many  of  the 
peasantry  believe  in  household  goblins,  called  Dobbies,  which 
live  about  particular  farms  and  houses,  in  the  same  way  that 
Eobin  Goodfellow  did  of  old.  Sometimes  they  haunt  the  barns 
and  outhouses,  and  now  and  then  will  assist  the  farmer  wonder 
fully,  by  getting  in  all  his  hay  or  corn  in  a  single  night.  In  gen 
eral,  however,  they  prefer  to  live  within  doors,  and  are  fond  of 
keeping  about  the  great  hearths,  and  basking  at  night,  after  the 
family  have  gone  to-  bed,  by  the  glowing  embers.  When  put  in 
particular  good  humor  by  the  warmth  of  their  lodgings,  and  the 
tidiness  of  the  housemaids,  they  will  overcome  their  natural  lazi 
ness,  and  do  a  vast  deal  of  household  work  before  morning ; 
churning  the  cream,  brewing  the  beer,  or  spinning  all  the  good 
dame's  flax.  All  this  is  precisely  the  conduct  of  Kobin  Goodfel 
low,  described  so  charmingly  by  Milton  : 

"  Tells  how  the  drudging  gohlin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
"When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  had  threshed  the  corn 
That  ten  day  laborers  could  not  end ; 
Then  lays  him  down  the  lubber-fiend, 
And  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength, 
And  crop-full,  out  of  door  he  flings 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings." 

But  beside  these  household  Dobbies,  there  are  others  of  a 
more  gloomy  and  unsocial  nature,  which  keep  about  lonely  barns, 
at  a  distance  from  any  dwelling-house,  or  about  ruins  and  old 
bridges.  These  are  full  of  mischievous,  and  often  malignant 


342  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

tricks,  and  are  fond  of  playing  pranks  upon  benighted  travellers. 
There  is  a  story,  among  the  old  people,  of  one  which  haunted  a 
ruined  mill,  just  by  a  bridge  that  crosses  a  small  stream  ;  how 
that  late  one  night,  as  a  traveller  was  passing  on  horseback,  the 
goblin  jumped  up  behind  him,  and  grasped  him  so  close  round 
the  body  that  he  had  no  power  to  help  himself,  but  expected  to  be 
squeezed  to  death :  luckily  his  heels  were  loose,  with  which  he 
plied  the  sides  of  his  steed,  and  was  carried,  with  the  wonderful 
instinct  of  a  traveller's  horse,  straight  to  the  village  inn.  Had 
the  inn  been  at  any  greater  distance,  there  is  no  doubt  but  he 
would  have  been  strangled  to  death ;  as  it  was,  the  good  people 
were  a  long  time  in  bringing  him  to  his  senses,  and  it  was  re 
marked  that  the  first  sign  he  showed  of  returning  consciousness, 
was  to  call  for  a  bottom  of  brandy. 

These  mischievous  Dobbies  bear  much  resemblance  in  their 
natures  and  habits  to  the  sprites  which  Heywood,  in  his  Heirar- 
chie,  calls  pugs  or  hogoblins : 


Their  dwellings  be 


In  corners  of  old  houses  least  frequented, 

Or  beneath  stacks  of  wood,  and  these  convented, 

Make  fearful  noise  in  butteries  and  in  dairies  ; 

Robin  Goodfellow  some,  some  call  them  fairies, 

In  solitarie  rooms  these  uprores  keep, 

And  beate  at  doores  to  wake  men  from  their  slepe, 

Seeming  to  force  lockes,  be  they  nere  so  strong, 

And  keeping  Christmasse  gambols  all  night  long. 

Pots,  glasses,  trenchers,  dishes,  pannes,  and  kettles 

They  will  make  dance  about  the  shelves  and  settles, 

As  if  about  the  kitchen  tost  and  cast, 

Yet  in  the  morning  nothing  found  misplac't. 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS.  343 

Others  such  houses  to  their  use  have  fitted 

In  which  base  murthers  have  been  once  committed. 

Some  have  their  fearful  habitations  taken 

In  desolate  houses,  ruin'd  and  forsaken." 

In  the  account  of  our  unfortunate  hawking  expedition,  I  men 
tioned  an  instance  of  one  of  these  sprites  supposed  to  haunt  the 
ruined  grange  that  stands  in  a  lonely  meadow,  and  has  a  remark 
able  echo.  The  parson  informs  me,  also,  of  a  belief  once  very 
prevalent,  that  a  household  Dobbie  kept  about  the  old  farmhouse 
of  the  Tibbetses.  It  has  long  been  traditional,  he  says,  that  one 
of  these  good-natured  goblins  is  attached  to  the  Tibbets  family, 
and  came  with  them  when  they  moved  into  this  part  of  the  coun 
try  ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  these  household  sprites, 
that  they  attach  themselves  to  the  fortunes  of  certain  families, 
and  follow  them  in  all  their  removals. 

There  is  a  large  old-fashioned  fireplace  in  the  farmhouse, 
which  affords  fine  quarters  for  a  chimney-corner  sprite  that  likes 
to  lie  warm ;  especially  as  Eeady-Money  Jack  keeps  up  rousing 
fires  in  the  winter  time.  The  old  people  of  the  village  recollect 
many  stories  about  this  goblin,  current  in  their  young  days.  It 
was  thought  to  have  brought  good  luck  to  the  house,  and  to  be  the 
reason  why  the  Tibbetses  were  always  beforehand  in  the  world ; 
and  why  their  farm  was  always  in  better  order,  their  hay  got  in 
sooner,  and  their  corn  better  stacked,  than  that  of  their  neighbors. 
The  present  Mrs.  Tibbets,  at  the  time  of  her  courtship,  had  a 
number  of  these  stories  told  her  by  the  country  gossips;  and 
when  married,  was  a  little  fearful  about  living  in  a  house  where 
such  a  hobgoblin  was  said  to  haunt:  Jack,  however,  who  has 
always  treated  this  story  with  great  contempt,  assured  her  that 
there  was  no  spirit  kept  about  his  house  that  he  could  not  at  any 


344  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

time  lay  in  the  Red  Sea  with  one  flourish  of  his  cudgel.  Still  his 
wife  has  never  got  completely  over  her  notions  on  the  subject ; 
but  has  a  horse-shoe  nailed  on  the  threshold,  and  keeps  a  branch 
of  rauntry,  or  mountain-ash,  with  its  red  berries,  suspended  from 
one  of  the  great  beams  in  the  parlor — a  sure  protection  from  all 
evil  spirits. 

These  stories,  as  I  before  observed,  are  fast  fading  away,  and 
in  another  generation  or  two  will  probably  be  completely  forgot 
ten.  There  is  something,  however,  about  these  rural  superstitions 
extremely  pleasing  to  the  imagination ;  particularly  those  which 
relate  to  the  good-humored  race  of  household  demons,  and  indeed 
to  the  whole  fairy  mythology.  The  English  have  given  an  inex 
pressible  charm  to  these  superstitions,  by  the  manner  in  which 
they  have  associated  them  with  whatever  is  most  homefelt  and 
delightful  in  nature.  I  do  not  know  a  more  fascinating  race  of 
beings  than  these  little  fabled  people  who  haunted  the  southern 
sides  of  hills  and  mountains ;  lurked  in  flowers  and  about  foun 
tain-heads  ;  glided  through  keyholes  into  ancient  halls  ;  watched 
over  farmhouses  and  dairies ;  danced  on  the  green  by  summer 
moonlight,  and  on  the  kitchen  hearth  in  winter.  They  accord 
with  the  nature  of  English  housekeeping  and  English  scenery. 
I  always  have  them  in  mind  when  I  see  a  fine  old  English  man 
sion,  with  its  wide  hall  and  spacious  kitchen ;  or  a  venerable 
farmhouse,  in  which  there  is  so  much  fireside  comfort  and  good 
housewifery.  There  was  something  of  national  character  in  their 
love  of  order  and  cleanliness ;  in  the  vigilance  with  which  they 
watched  over  the  economy  of  the  kitchen,  and  the  functions  of 
the  servants ;  munificently  rewarding,  with  silver  sixpence  in 
shoe,  the  tidy  housemaid,  but  venting  their  direful  wrath,  in  mid 
night  bobs  and  pinches,  upon  the  sluttish  dairymaid.  I  think  I 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS.  345 

can  trace  the  good  effects  of  this  ancient  fairy  sway  over  house 
hold  concerns,  in  the  care  that  prevails  to  the  present  day  among 
English  housemaids,  to  put  their  kitchens  in  order  before  they  go 
to  bed. 

I  have  said  that  these  fairy  superstitions  accord  with  the  na 
ture  of  English  iScenery.  They  suit  these  small  landscapes,  which 
are  divided  by  honeysuckle  hedges  into  sheltered  fields  and  mea 
dows  ;  where  the  grass  is  mingled  with  daisies,  butter-cups,  and 
hare-bells.  When  I  first  found  myself  among  English  scenery, 
I  was  continually  reminded  of  the  sweet  pastoral  images  which 
distinguish  their  fairy  mythology ;  and  when  for  the  first  time  a 
circle  in  the  grass  was  pointed  out  to  me  as  one  of  the  rings 
where  they  were  formerly  supposed  to  have  held  their  moonlight 
revels,  it  seemed  for  a  moment  as  if  fairy-land  were  no  longer  a 
fable.  Brown,  in  his  Britannia's  Pastorals,  gives  a  picture  of  the 
kind  of  scenery  to  which  I  allude : 

" A  pleasant  mead 


Where  faries  often  did  their  measures  tread ; 
"Which  in  the  meadows  make  such  circles  green 
As  if  with  garlands  it  had  crowned  been. 
Within  one  of  these  rounds  was  to  be  seen 
A  hillock  rise,  where  oft  the  fairy  queen 
At  twilight  sat." 

And  there  is  another  picture  of  the  same,  in  a  poem  ascribed  to 
Ben  Jonson : 

"  By  wells  and  rills  in  meadows  green, 

We  nightly  dance  our  hey-dey  guise, 
And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queen 

We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies." 

15* 


346  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Indeed,  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  older  British  poets,  with  that 
true  feeling  for  nature  which  distinguishes  them,  have  closely 
adhered  to  the  simple  and  familiar  imagery  which  they  found  in 
these  popular  superstitions ;  and  have  thus  given  to  their  fairy 
mythology  those  continual  allusions  to  the  farmhouse  and  the 
dairy,  the  green  meadow  and  the  fountain-head,  which  fill  our 
minds  with  the  delightful  associations  of  rural  life.  It  is  curious 
to  observe  how  the  most  beautiful  fictions  have  their  origin  among 
the  rude  and  ignorant.  There  is  an  indescribable  charm  about 
the  illusions  with  which  chimerical  ignorance  once  clothed  every 
subject.  These  twilight  views  of  nature  are  often  more  captivat 
ing  than  any  which  are  revealed  by  the  rays  of  enlightened  phi 
losophy.  The  most  accomplished  and  poetical  minds,  therefore, 
have  been  fain  to  search  back  into  the  accidental  conceptions  of 
what  are  termed  barbarous  ages,  and  to  draw  from  them  their 
finest  imagery  and  machinery.  If  we  look  through  our  most 
admired  poets,  we  shall  find  that  their  minds  have  been  impreg 
nated  by  these  popular  fancies,  and  that  those  have  succeeded 
best  who  have  adhered  closest  to  the  simplicity  of  their  rustic 
originals.  Such  is  the  case  with  Shakspeare  in  his  Midsummer- 
Night's  Dream,  which  so  minutely  describes  the  employments 
and  amusements  of  fairies,  and  embodies  all  the  notions  concern 
ing  them  which  were  current  among  the  vulgar.  It  is  thus  that 
poetry  in  England  has  echoed  back  every  rustic  note,  softened 
into  perfect  melody ;  it  is  this  that  has  spread  its  charms  over 
every-day  life,  displacing  nothing ;  taking  things  as  it  found 
them  ;  but  tinting  them  up  with  its  own  magical  hues,  until  every 
green  hill  and  fountain-head,  every  fresh  meadow,  nay,  every 
humble  flower,  is  full  of  song  and  story. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long,  perhaps,  upon  a  threadbare  subject ; 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS.  347 

yet  it  brings  up  with  it  a  thousand  delicious  recollections  of  those 
happy  days  of  childhood,  when  the  imperfect  knowledge  I  have 
since  obtained  had  not  yet  dawned  upon  my  mind,  and  when  a 
fairy  tale  was  true  history  to  me.  I  have  often  been  so  trans 
ported  by  the  pleasure  of  these  recollections,  as  almost  to  wish  I 
had  been  born  in  the  days  when  the  fictions  of  poetry  were  be 
lieved.  Even  now  I  cannot  look  upon  those  fanciful  creations  of 
ignorance  and  credulity,  without  a  lurking  regret  that  they  have 
all  passed  away.  The  experience  of  my  early  days  tells  me,  they 
were  sources  of  exquisite  delight;  and  I  sometimes  question 
whether  the  naturalist  who  can  dissect  the  flowers  of  the  field, 
receives  half  the  pleasure  from  contemplating  them,  that  he  did 
who  considered  them  the  abode  of  elves  and  fairies.  I  feel  con 
vinced  that  the  true  interests  and  solid  happiness  of  man  are  pro 
moted  by  the  advancement  of  truth ;  yet  I  cannot  but  mourn  over 
the  pleasant  errors  which  it  has  trampled  down  in  its  progress. 
The  fauns  and  sylphs,  the  household  sprites,  the  moonlight  revel, 
Oberon,  Queen  Mab,  and  the  delicious  realms  of  fairy-land,  all 
vanish  before  the  light  of  true  philosophy ;  but  who  does  not 
sometimes  turn  with  distaste  from  the  cold  realities  of  morning, 
and  seek  to  recall  the  sweet  visions  of  the  night  ? 


THE  CULPRIT. 

From  fire,  from  water,  and  all  things  amiss, 
Deliver  the  house  of  an  honest  justice. 

THE  WIDOW. 

THE  serenity  of  the  Hall  has  been  suddenly  interrupted  by  a  very 
important  occurrence.  In  the  course  of  this  morning  a  posse  of 
villagers  was  seen  trooping  up  the  avenue,  with  boys  shouting  in 
advance.  As  it  drew  near,  we  perceived  Eeady-Money  Jack 
Tibbets  striding  along,  wielding  his  cudgel  in  one  hand,  and  with 
the  other  grasping  the  collar  of  a  tall  fellow,  whom,  on  still  nearer 
approach,  we  recognized  for  the  redoubtable  gipsy  hero,  Starlight 
Tom.  He  was  now,  however,  completely  cowed  and  crestfallen, 
and  his  courage  seemed  to  have  quailed  in  the  iron  gripe  of  the 
lion-hearted  Jack. 

The  whole  gang  of  gipsy  women  and  children  came  draggling 
in  the  rear ;  some  in  tears,  others  making  a  violent  clamor  about 
the  ears  of  old  Keady-Money,  who,  however,  trudged  on  in  silence 
with  his  prey,  heeding  their  abuse  as  little  as  a  hawk  that  has 
pounced  upon  a  barn-door  hero  regards  the  outcries  and  cacklings 
of  his  whole  feathered  seraglio. 

He  had  passed  through  the  village  on  his  way  to  the  Hall,  and 
of  course  had  made  a  great  sensation  in  that  most  excitable  place, 
where  every  event  is  a  matter  of  gaze  and  gossip.  The  report 


THE   CULPRIT.  349 

riew  like  wildfire,  that  Starlight  Tom  was  in  custody.  The  ale- 
drinkers  forthwith  abandoned  the  tap-room ;  Slingsby's  school 
broke  loose,  and  master  and  boys  swelled  the  tide  that  came  roll 
ing  at  the  heels  of  old  Eeady-Money  and  his  captive. 

The  uproar  increased  as  they  approached  the  Hall ;  it  aroused 
the  whole  garrison  of  dogs,  and  the  crew  of  hangers-on.  The 
great  mastiff  barked  from  the  dog-house ;  the  staghound  and  the 
greyhound,  and  the  spaniel  issued  barking  from  the  hall-door,  and 
my  Lady  Lillycraft's  little  dogs  ramped  and  barked  from  the  par 
lor  window.  I  remarked,  however,  that  the  gipsy  dogs  made  no 
reply  to  all  these  menaces  and  insults,  but  crept  close  to  the  gang, 
looking  round  with  a  guilty,  poaching  air,  and  now  and  then 
glancing  up  a  dubious  eye  to  their  owners ;  which  shows  that  the 
moral  dignity,  even  of  dogs,  may  be  ruined  by  bad  company ! 

When  the  throng  reached  the  front  of  the  house  they  were 
brought  to  a  halt  by  a  kind  of  advanced  guard,  composed  of  old 
Christy,  the  gamekeeper,  and  two  or  three  servants  of  the  house, 
who  had  been  brought  out  by  the  noise.  The  common  herd  of 
the  village  fell  back  with  respect ;  the  boys  were  driven  back  by 
Christy  and  his  compeers ;  while  Eeady-Money  Jack  maintained 
his  ground  and  his  hold  of  the  prisoner,  and  was  surrounded  by 
the  tailor,  the  schoolmaster,  and  several  other  dignitaries  of  the 
village,  and  by  the  clamorous  brood  of  gipsies,  who  were  neither 
to  be  silenced  nor  intimidated. 

By  this  time  the  whole  household  were  brought  to  the  doors 
and  windows,  and  the  Squire  to  the  portal.  An  audience  was  de 
manded  by  Eeady-Money  Jack,  who  had  detected  the  prisoner  in 
the  very  act  of  sheep-stealing  on  his  domains,  and  had  borne  him 
off  to  be  examined  before  the  Squire,  who  was  in  the  commission 
of  the  peace. 


350  BRACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

A  kind  of  tribunal  was  immediately  held  in  the  servants'  hall, 
a  large  chamber,  with  a  stone  floor,  and  a  long  table  in  the  centre, 
at  one  end  of  which,  just  under  an  enormous  clock,  was  placed 
the  Squire's  chair  of  justice,  while  Master  Simon  took  his  place 
at  the  table  as  clerk  of  the  court.  An  attempt  had  been  made 
by  old  Christy  to  keep  out  the  gipsy  gang,  but  in  vain,  and  they, 
with  the  village  worthies,  and  the  household,  half-filled  the  hall. 
The  old  housekeeper  and  the  butler  were  in  a  panic  at  this  dan 
gerous  irruption.  They  hurried  away  all  the  valuable  things  and 
portable  articles  that  were  at  hand,  and  even  kept  a  dragon  watch 
on  the  gipsies,  lest  they  should  carry  off  the  house-clock,  or  the 
deal-table. 

Old  Christy,  and  his  faithful  coadjutor  the  gamekeeper,  acted 
as  constables  to  guard  the  prisoner,  triumphing  in  having  at  last 
got  this  terrible  offender  in  their  clutches.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined 
to  think  the  old  man  bore  some  peevish  recollection  of  having 
been  handled  rather  roughly  by  the  gipsy  in  the  chance-medley 
affair  of  May-day. 

Silence  was  now  commanded  by  Master  Simon ;  but  it  was 
difficult  to  be  enforced  in  such  a  motley  assemblage.  There  was 
a  continual  snarling  and  yelping  of  dogs,  and,  as  fast  as  it  was 
quelled  in  one  corner,  it  broke  out  in  another.  The  poor  gipsy 
curs,  who,  like  errant  thieves,  could  not  hold  up  their  heads  in  an 
honest  house,  were  worried  and  insulted  by  the  gentlemen  dogs  of 
the  establishment,  without  offering  to  make  resistance ;  the  very 
curs  of  my  Lady  Lillycraft  bullied  them  with  impunity. 

The  examination  was  conducted  with  great  mildness  and  in 
dulgence  by  the  Squire,  partly  from  the  kindness  of  his  nature, 
and  partly,  I  suspect,  because  his  heart  yearned  towards  the  cul 
prit,  who  had  found  great  favor  in  his  eyes,  as  I  have  already  ob- 


THE   CULPRIT.  351 

served,  from  the  skill  lie  had  at  various  times  displayed  in  arch 
ery,  morris-dancing,  and  other  obsolete  accomplishments.  Proofs, 
however,  were  too  strong.  Beady-Money  Jack  told  his  story  in 
a  straight-forward  independent  way,  nothing  daunted  by  the 
presence  in  Avhich  he  found  himself.  He  had  suffer^  from  vari 
ous  depredations  on  his  sheepfold  and  poultry-yard,  and  had  at 
length  kept  watch,  and  caught  the  delinquent  in  the  very  act  of 
making  off  with  a  sheep  on  his  shoulders. 

Tibbets  was  repeatedly  interrupted,  in  the  course  of  his  tes 
timony,  by  the  culprit's  mother,  a  furious  old  beldame,  with  an 
insufferable  tongue,  and  who,  in  fact,  was  several  times  kept,  with 
some  difficulty,  from  flying  at  him  tooth  and  nail.  The  wife,  too, 
of  the  prisoner,  whom  I  am  told  he  does  not  beat  above  half  a 
dozen  times  a  week,  completely  interested  Lady  Lillycraft  in  her 
husband's  behalf,  by  her  tears  and  supplications ;  and  several  of 
the  other  gipsy  women  were  awakening  strong  sympathy  among 
the  young  girls  and  maid-servants  in  the  background.  The  pretty 
black-eyed  gipsy  girl,  whom  I  have  mentioned  on  a  former  occa 
sion  as  the  sibyl  that  read  the  fortunes  of  the  general,  endeavored 
to  wheedle  that  doughty  warrior  into  their  interests,  and  even 
made  some  approaches  to  her  old  acquaintance,  Master  Simon ; 
but  was  repelled  by  the  latter  with  all  the  dignity  of  office,  hav 
ing  assumed  a  look  of  gravity  and  importance  suitable  to  the  oc 
casion. 

I  was  a  little  surprised,  at  first,  to  find  honest  Slingsby,  the 
schoolmaster,  rather  opposed  to  his  old  crony  Tibbets,  and  coming 
forward  as  a  kind  of  advocate  for  the  accused.  It  seems  that  he 
had  taken  compassion  on  the  forlorn  fortunes  of  Starlight  Tom, 
and  had  been  trying  his  eloquence  in  his  favor  the  whole  way  from 
the  village,  but  without  effect.  During  the  examination  of  Eeady- 


352  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Money  Jack,  Slingsby  had  stood  like  "  dejected  pity  at  his  side," 
seeking  every  now  and  then,  by  a  soft  word,  to  soothe  any  exacer 
bation  of  his  ire,  or  to  qualify  any  harsh  expression.  He  now 
ventured  to  make  a  few  observations  to  the  Squire  in  palliation 
of  the  delinquent's  offence ;  but  poor  Slingsby  spoke  more  from 
the  heart  than  the  head,  and  was  evidently  actuated  merely  by  a 
general  sympathy  for  every  poor  devil  in  trouble,  and  a  liberal 
toleration  for  all  kinds  of  vagabond  existence. 

The  ladies,  too,  large  and  small,  with  the  kind-heartedness  of 
the  sex,  were  zealous  on  the  side  of  mercy,  and  interceded  stren 
uously  with  the  Squire ;  insomuch  that  the  prisoner,  finding  him 
self  unexpectedly  surrounded  by  active  friends,  once  more  reared 
his  crest,  and  seemed  disposed  for  a  time  to  put  on  the  air  of  in 
jured  innocence.  The  Squire,  however,  with  all  his  benevolence 
of  heart,  and  his  lurking  weakness  towards  the  prisoner,  was  too 
conscientious  to  swerve  from  the  strict  'path  of  justice.  Abun 
dant  concurring  testimony  made  the  proof  of  guilt  incontroverti 
ble,  and  Starlight  Tom's  mittimus  was  made  out  accordingly. 

The  sympathy  of  the  ladies  was  now  greater  than  ever ;  they 
even  made  some  attempts  to  mollify  the  ire  of  Eeady-Money 
Jack  ;  but  that  sturdy  potentate  had  been  too  much  incensed  by 
the  repeated  incursions  into  his  territories  by  the  predatory  band 
of  Starlight  Tom,  and  he  was  resolved,  he  said,  to  drive  the 
"  varment  reptiles  "  out  of  the  neighborhood.  To  avoid  all  fur 
ther  importunities,  as  soon  as  the  mittimus  was  made  out,  he 
girded  up  his  loins,  and  strode  back  to  his  seat  of  empire,  accom 
panied  by  his  interceding  friend,  Slingsby,  and  followed  by  a  de 
tachment  of  the  gipsy  gang,  who  hung  on  his  rear,  assailing  him 
mingled  prayers  and  execrations. 

The  question  now  was,  how  to  dispose  of  the  prisoner ;  a  mat- 


THE   CULPRIT.  353 

ter  of  great  moment  in  this  peaceful  establishment,  where  so  for 
midable  a  character  as  Starlight  Tom  was  like  a  hawk  entrapped 
in  a  dove-cote.  As  the  hubbub  and  examination  had  occupied  a 
considerable  time,  it  was  too  late  in  the  day  to  send  him  to  the 
county  prison,  and  that  of  the  village  was  sadly  out  of  repair, 
from  long  want  of  occupation.  Old  Christy,  who  took  great  inter 
est  in  the  affair,  proposed  that  the  culprit  should  be  committed  for 
the  night  to  an  upper  loft  of  a  kind  of  tower  in  one  of  the  out 
houses,  where  he  and  the  gamekeeper  would  mount  guard.  After 
much  deliberation,  this  measure  was  adopted;  the  premises  in 
question  were  examined  and  made  secure,  and  Christy  and  his 
trusty  ally,  the  one  armed  with  a  fowling-piece,  the  other  with  an 
ancient  blunderbuss,  turned  out  as  sentries  to  keep  watch  over 
this  donjon-keep. 

Such  is  the  momentous  affair  that  has  just  taken  place,  and  it 
is  an  event  of  too  great  moment  in  this  quiet  little  world,  not  to 
turn  it  completely  topsy-turvy.  Labor  is  at  a  stand.  The  house 
has  been  a  scene  of  confusion  the  whole  evening.  It  has  been 
beleaguered  by  gipsy  women,  with  their  children  on  their  backs, 
wailing  and  lamenting ;  while  the  old  virago  of  a  mother  has 
cruised  up  and  down  the  lawn  in  front,  shaking  her  head  and 
muttering  to  herself,  or  now  and  then  breaking  into  a  paroxysm 
of  rage,  brandishing  her  fist  at  the  Hall,  and  denouncing  ill  luck 
upon  Ready-Money  Jack,  and  even  upon  the  Squire  himself. 

Lady  Lillycraft  has  given  repeated  audiences  to  the  culprit's 
weeping  wife,  at  the  Hall  door ;  and  the  servant  maids  have  sto 
len  out  to  confer  with  the  gipsy  women  under  the  trees.  As  to 
the  little  ladies  of  the  family,  they  are  all  outrageous  at  Eeady 
Money  Jack,  whom  they  look  upon  in  the  light  of  a  tyrannical 
giant  of  fairy  tale.  Phoebe  "Wilkins,  contrary  to  her  usual  na- 


354  BBACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

ture,  is  the  only  one  pitiless  in  the  affair.  She  thinks  Mr.  Tib- 
bets  quite  in  the  right ;  and  thinks  the  gipsies  deserve  to  be  pun 
ished  severely  for  meddling  with  the  sheep  of  the  Tibbetses. 

In  the  mean  time  the  females  of  the  family  evinced  all  the 
provident  kindness  of  the  sex,  ever  ready  to  soothe  and  succor 
the  distressed,  right  or  wrong.  Lady  Lillycraft  has  had  a  mat 
tress  taken  to  the  outhouse,  and  comforts  and  delicacies  of  all 
kinds  have  been  taken  to  the  prisoner ;  even  the  little  girls  have 
sent  their  cakes  and  sweetmeats ;  so  that,  I'll  warrant  the  vaga 
bond  has  never  fared  so  well  in  his  life  before.  Old  Christy,  it 
is  true,  looks  upon  every  thing  with  a  wary  eye ;  struts  about 
with  his  blunderbuss  with  the  air  of  a  veteran  campaigner,  and 
will  hardly  allow  himself  to  be  spoken  to.  The  gipsy  women 
dare  not  come  within  gunshot,  and  every  tatterdemalion  of  a  boy 
has  been  frightened  from  the  park.  The  old  fellow  is  determined 
to  lodge  Starlight  Tom  in  prison  with  his  own  hands ;  and  hopes, 
he  says,  to  see  one  of  the  poaching  crew  made  an  example  of. 

I  doubt,  after  all,  whether  the  worthy  Squire  is  not  the  great 
est  sufferer  in  the  whole  affair.  His  honorable  sense  of  duty 
obliges  him  to  be  rigid,  but  the  overflowing  kindness  of  his  na 
ture  makes  this  a  grievous  trial  to  him. 

He  is  not  accustomed  to  have  such  demands  upon  his  justice 
in  his  truly  patriarchal  domain ;  and  it  wounds  his  benevolent 
spirit,  that  while  prosperity  and  happiness  are  flowing  in  thus 
bounteously  upon  him,  he  should  have  to  inflict  misery  upon  a 
fellow-being. 

He  has  been  troubled  and  cast  down  the  whole  evening ;  took 
leave  of  the  family,  on  going  to  bed,  with  a  sigh,  instead  of  his 
usual  hearty  and  affectionate  tone ;  and  will,  in  all  probability, 
have  a  far  more  sleepless  night  than  his  prisoner.  Indeed,  this 


THE    CULPRIT.  355 

unlucky  affair  has  cast  a  damp  upon  the  whole  household,  as  there 
appears  to  be  an  universal  opinion  that  the  unlucky  culprit  will 
come  to  the  gallows. 

Morning. — The  clouds  of  last  evening  are  all  blown  over.  A 
load  has  been  taken  from  the  Squire's  heart,  and  every  face  is 
once  more  in  smiles.  The  gamekeeper  made  his  appearance  at 
an  early  hour,  completely  shamefaced  and  crest-fallen.  Starlight 
Tom  had  made  his  escape  in  the  night;  how  he  had  got  out  of 
the  loft,  no  one  could  tell :  the  Devil,  they  think,  must  have  as 
sisted  him.  Old  Christy  was  so  mortified  that  he  would  not  show 
his  face,  but  had  shut  himself  up  in  his  stronghold  at  the  dog- 
kennel,  and  would  not  be  spoken  with.  What  has  particularly 
relieved  the  Squire  is,  that  there  is  very  little  likelihood  of  the 
culprit's  being  retaken,  having  gone  off  on  one  of  the  old  gentle 
man's  best  hunters 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES. 

The  night  has  been  unruly:  where  -we  lay, 
The  chimneys  were  blown  down. 

MACBETH. 

WE  have  for  a  day  or  two  past  had  a  flaw  of  unruly  weather, 
which  has  intruded  itself  into  this  fair  and  flowery  month,  and  for 
a  time  quite  marred  the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  Last  night  the 
storm  attained  its  crisis ;  the  rain  beat  in  torrents  against  the 
casements,  and  the  wind  piped  and  blustered  about  the  old  Hall 
with  quite  a  wintry  vehemence.  The  morning,  however,  dawned 
clear  and  serene ;  the  face  of  the  heavens  seemed  as  if  newly 
washed,  and  the  sun  shone  with  a  brightness  undimmed  by  a  sin 
gle  vapor.  Nothing  overhead  gave  traces  of  the  recent  storm ; 
but  on  looking  from  my  window  I  beheld  sad  ravage  among  the 
shrubs  and  flowers ;  the  garden  walks  had  formed  the  channels  for 
little  torrents ;  trees  were  lopped  of  their  branches,  and  a  small 
silver  stream  which  wound  through  the  park,  and  ran  at  the  bot 
tom  of  the  lawn,  had  swelled  into  a  turbid,  yellow  sheet  of  water. 
In  an  establishment  like  this,  where  the  mansion  is  vast,  an 
cient,  and  somewhat  afflicted  with  the  infirmities  of  age,  and 
where  there  are  numerous  and  extensive  dependencies,  a  storm  is 
an  event  of  a  very  grave  nature,  and  brings  in  its  train  a  multi 
plicity  of  cares  and  disasters. 


FAMILY   MISFORTUNES.  357 

While  the  Squire  was  taking  his  breakfast  in  the  great  hall, 
he  was  continually  interrupted  by  bearers  of  ill  tidings  from  some 
part  or  other  of  his  domains ;  he  appeared  to  me  like  the  com 
mander  of  a  besieged  city,  after  some  grand  assault,  receiving  at 
his  head-quarters  reports  of  .damages  sustained  in  the  various 
quarters  of  the  place.  At  one  time  the  housekeeper  brought  him 
intelligence  of  a  chimney  blown  down,  and  a  desperate  leak 
sprung  in  the  roof  over  the  picture-gallery,  which  threatened  to 
obliterate  a  whole  generation  of  his  ancestors.  Then  the  steward 
came  in  with  a  doleful  story  of  the  mischief  done  in  the  wood 
lands  ;  while  the  gamekeeper  bemoaned  the  loss  of  one  of  his 
finest  bucks,  whose  bloated  carcase  was  seen  floating  along  the 
swollen  current  of  the  river. 

When  the  Squire  issued  forth,  he  was  accosted,  before  the 
door,  by  the  old,  paralytic  gardener,  with  a  face  full  of  trouble, 
reporting,  as  I  supposed,  the  devastation  of  his  flower-beds,  and 
the  destruction  of  his  wall-fruit.  I  remarked,  however,  that  his 
intelligence  caused  a  peculiar  expression  of  concern  not  only  with 
the  Squire  and  Master  Simon,  but  with  the  fair  Julia  and  Lady 
Lillycraft,  who  happened  to  be  present.  From  a  few  words 
which  reached  my  ear,  I  found  there  was  some  tale  of  domestic 
calamity  in  the  case,  and  that  some  unfortunate  family  had  been 
rendered  houseless  by  the  storm.  Many  ejaculations  of  pity 
broke  from  the  ladies ;  I  heard  the  expressions  of  "  poor  helpless 
beings,"  and  "unfortunate  little  creatures,"  several  times  re- 
'  peated ;  to  which  the  old  gardener  replied  by  very  melancholy 
shakes  of  the  head. 

I  felt  so  interested,  that  I  could  not  help  calling  to  the  gar 
dener,  as  he  was  retiring,  and  asking  what  unfortunate  family  it 
was  that  had  suffered  so  severely.  The  old  man  touched  his  hat, 


353  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

and  gazed  at  me  for  an  instant,  as  if  hardly  comprehending  my 
question.  "  Family ! "  replied  he :  "  there  be  no  family  in  the 
case,  your  honor ;  but  here  have  been  sad  mischief  done  in  the 
rookery ! " 

I  had  noticed  the  day  before  that  the  high  and  gusty  winds 
had  occasioned  great  disquiet  among  these  airy  householders ; 
their  nests  being  all  filled  with  young,  who  were  in  danger  of  be 
ing  tilted  out  of  their  tree- rocked  cradles.  Indeed,  the  old  birds 
themselves  seemed  to  have  hard  work  to  maintain  a  foothold ; 
some  kept  hovering  and  cawing  in  the  air ;  or  if  they  ventured  to 
alight,  had  to  hold  fast,  flap  their  wings,  and  spread  their  tails, 
and  thus  remain  see-sawing  on  the  topmost  twigs. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  however,  an  awful  calamity  had 
taken  place  in  this  most  sage  and  politic  community.  There  was 
a  great  tree,  the  tallest  in  the  grove,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
the  kind  of  court-end  of  the  metropolis,  and  crowded  with  the 
residences  of  those  whom  Master  Simon  considers  the  nobility 
and  gentry.  A  decayed  limb  of  this  tree  had  given  way  with  the 
violence  of  the  storm,  and  came  down  with  all  its  air-castles. 

One  should  be  well  aware  of  the  humors  of  the  good  Squire 
and  his  household,  to  understand  the  general  concern  expressed 
at  this  disaster.  It  was  quite  a  public  calamity  in  this  rural 
empire,  and  all  seemed  to  feel  for  the  poor  rooks  as  for  fellow- 
citizens  in  distress. 

The  ground  had  been  strewed  with  the  callow  young,  which 
were  now  cherished  in  the  aprons  and  bosoms  of  the  maid-ser 
vants,  and  the  little  ladies  of  the  family.  I  was  pleased  with  this 
touch  of  nature ;  this  feminine  sympathy  in  the  sufferings  of  the 
offspring,  and  the  maternal  anxiety  of  the  parent  birds. 

It  was  interesting,  too,  to  witness  the  general  agitation  and 


FAMILY   MISFORTUXES. 


359 


distress  prevalent  throughout  the  feathered  community ;  the  com 
mon  cause  that  was  made  of  it ;  and  the  incessant  hovering,  and 
fluttering,  and  lamenting,  in  the  whole  rookery.  There  is  a 
chord  of  sympathy  that  runs  through  the  whole  feathered  race  as 
to  any  misfortunes  of  the  young ;  and  the  cries  of  a  wounded  bird 
in  the  breeding  season  will  throw  a  whole  grove  in  a  flutter  and 
an  alarm.  Indeed,  why  should  I  confine  it  to  the  feathered  tribe  ? 
Nature  has  implanted  an  exquisite  sympathy  on  this  subject, 
which  extends  through  all  her  works.  It  is  an  invariable  attri 
bute  of  the  female  heart,  to  melt  at  the  cry  of  early  helplessness, 
and  to  take  an  instinctive  interest  in  the  distresses  of  the  parent 
and  its  young.  On  the  present  occasion  the  ladies  of  the  family 
were  full  of  pity  and  commiseration ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
look  that  Lady  Lillycraft  gave  the  general,  on  his  observing  that 
the  young  birds  would  make  an  excellent  curry,  or  an  especial 
good  rook -pie. 


LOVERS'  TROUBLES. 

*      • 

The  poor  soul  sat  singing  by  a  sycamore  tree 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  ; 
Her  band  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee 

Sing  willow,  willow,  willow : 
Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland. 

OLD  Soya.          *- 

THE  fair  Julia  having  nearly  recovered  from  the  effects  of  her 
hawking  disaster,  it  begins  to  be  thought  high  time  to  appoint  a 
day  for  the  wedding.  As  every  domestic  event  in  a  venerable  and 
aristocratic  family  connection  like  this  is  a  matter  of  moment, 
the  fixing  upon  this  important  day  has,  of  course,  given  rise  to 
much  conference  and  debate. 

Some  slight  difficulties  and  demurs  have  lately  sprung  up, 
originating  in  the  peculiar  humors  prevalent  at  the  Hall.  Thus, 
I  have  overheard  a  very  solemn  consultation  between  Lady  Lilly- 
craft,  the  parson,  and  Master  Simon,  as  to  whether  the  marriage 
ought  not  to  be  postponed  until  the  coming  month. 

With  all  the  charms  of  the  flowery  month  of  May,  there  is,  I 
find,  an  ancient  prejudice  against  it  as  a  marrying  month.  An 
old  proverb  says,  "  To  wed  in  May  is  to  wed  poverty."  Now,  as 
Lady  Lillycraft  is  very  much  given  to  believe  in  lucky  and  un 
lucky  times  and  seasons,  and  indeed  is  very  superstitious  on  all 


LOVERS'   TROUBLES.  361 

points  relating  to  the  tender  passion,  this  old  proverb  has  taken 
great  hold  upon  her  mind.  She  recollects  two  or  three  instances 
in  her  own  knowledge  of  matches  that  took  place  in  this  month, 
and  proved  very  unfortunate.  Indeed,  an  own  cousin  of  hers, 
who  married  on  a  May-day,  lost  her  husband  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  after  they  had  lived  happily  together  for  twenty  years. 

The  parson  appeared  to  give  great  weight  to  her  ladyship's 
objections,  and  acknowledged  the  existence  of  a  prejudice  of  the 
kind,  not  merely  confined  to  modern  times,  but  prevalent  likewise 
among  the  ancients.  In  confirmation  of  this  he  quoted  a  passage 
from  Ovid,  which  had  a  great  effect  on  Lady  Lillycraft,  being 
given  in  a  language  which  she  did  not  understand.  Even  Mas 
ter  Simon  was  staggered  by  it ;  for  he  listened  with  a  puzzled 
air ;  and  then,  shaking  his  head,  sagaciously  observed,  that  Ovid 
was  certainly  a  very  wise  man. 

From  this  sage  conference  I  likewise  gathered  several  other 
important  pieces  of  information  relative  to  weddings ;  such  as 
that,  if  two  were  celebrated  in  the  same  church,  on  the  same  day, 
the  first  would  be  happy,  the*  second  unfortunate.  If,  on  going  to 
church,  the  bridal  party  should  meet  the  funeral  of  a  female,  it 
was  an  omen  that  the  bride  would  die  first ;  if  of  a  male,  the 
bridegroom.  If  the  newly-married  couple  were  to  dance  together 
on  their  wedding-day,  the  wife  would  thenceforth  rule  the  roast ; 
with  many  other  curious  and  unquestionable  facts  of  the  same 
nature,  all  which  made  me  ponder  more  than  ever  upon  the  perils 
which  surround  this  happy  state,  and  the  thoughtless  ignorance 
of  mortals  as  to  the  awful  risk  they  run  in  venturing  upon  it.  I 
abstain,  however,  from  enlarging  upon  this  topic,  having  no  incli 
nation  to  promote  the  increase  of  bachelors. 

Notwithstanding  the  due  weight  which  the  Squire  gives  to 
16 


362  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

traditional  saws  and  ancient  opinions,  I  am  happy  to  find  that  he 
makes  a  firm  stand  for  the  credit  of  this  loving  month,  and  brings 
to  his  aid  a  whole  legion  of  poetical  authorities ;  all  which,  I  pre 
sume,  have  been  conclusive  with  the  young  couple,  as  I  under 
stand  they  are  perfectly  willing  to  marry  in  May,  and  abide  the 
consequences.  In  a  few  days,  therefore,  the  wedding  is  to  take 
place,  and  the  Hall  is  in  a  buzz  of  anticipation.  The  housekeeper 
is  bustling  about  from  morning  till  night,  with  a  look  full  of  busi 
ness  and  importance,  having  a  thousand  arrangements  to  make, 
the  Squire  intending  to  keep  open  house  on  the  occasion ;  and  as 
to  the  housemaids,  you  cannot  look  one  of  them  in  the  face,  but 
the  rogue  begins  to  color  up  and  simper. 

While,  however,  this  leading  love  affair  is  going  on  with  a 
tranquillity  quite  inconsistent  with  the  rules  of  romance,  I  cannot 
say  that  the  underplots  are  equally  propitious.  The  "  opening 
bud  of  love "  between  the  general  and  Lady  Lillycraft  seems  to 
have  experienced  some  blight  in  the  course  of  this  genial  season. 
I  do  not  think  the  general  has  ever  been  able  to  retrieve  the 
ground  he  lost,  when  he  fell  asleep  during  the  captain's  story. 
Indeed,  Master  Simon  thinks  his  case  is  completely  desperate,  her 
ladyship  having  determined  that  he  is  quite  destitute  of  sentiment. 

The  season  has  been  equally  unpropitious  to  the  lovelorn 
Phffibe  Wilkins.  I  fear  the  reader  will  be  impatient  at  having 
this  humble  amour  so  often  alluded  to ;  but  I  confess  I  am  apt  to 
take  a  great  interest  in  the  love  troubles  of  simple  girls  of  this 
class.  Few  people  have  an  idea  of  the  world  of  care  and  per 
plexity  these  poor  damsels  have  in  managing  the  affairs  of  the 
heart. 

We  talk  and  write  about  the  tender  passion ;  we  give  it  all 
the  colorings  of  sentiment  and  romance,  and  lay  the  scene  of  its 


LOVERS'   TROUBLES.  363 

influence  in  nigh  life ;  but,  after  all,  I  doubt  whether  its  sway  is 
not  more  absolute  among  females  of  an  humbler  sphere.  How 
often,  could  we  but  look  into  the  heart,  should  we  find  the  senti 
ment  throbbing  in  all  its  violence,  in  the  bosom  of  the  poor  lady's- 
maid,  rather  than  in  that  of  the  brilliant  beauty  she  is  decking 
out  for  conquest ;  whose  brain  is  probably  bewildered  with  beaux, 
ball-rooms,  and  wax-light  chandeliers. 

With  these  humble  beings  love  is  an  honest,  engrossing  con 
cern.  They  have  no  ideas  of  settlements,  establishments,  equi 
pages,  and  pin-money.  The  heart — the  heart  is  all-in-all  with 
them,  poor  things !  There  is  seldom  one  of  them  but  has  her 
love-cares,  and  love-secrets ;  her  doubts,  and  hopes,  and  fears, 
equal  to  those  of  any  heroine  of  romance,  and  ten  times  as  sincere. 
And  then,  too,  there  is  her  secret  hoard  of  love-documents ; — the 
broken  sixpence,  the  gilded  brooch,  the  lock  of  hair,  the  unintel 
ligible  love-scrawl,  all  treasured  up  in  her  box  of  Sunday  finery, 
for  private  contemplation. 

How  many  crosses  and  trials  is  she  exposed  to  from  some 
lynx-eyed  dame,  or  staid  old  vestal  of  a  mistress,  who  keeps  a 
dragon  watch  over  her  virtue,  and  scouts  the  lover  from  the  door. 
But  then,  how  sweet  are  the  little  love-scenes,  snatched  at  distant 
intervals  of  holiday,  and  fondly  dwelt  on  through  many  a  long 
day  of  household  labor  and  confinement !  If  in  the  country — it 
is  the  dance  at  the  fair  or  wake,  the  interview  in  the  church-yard 
after  service,  or  the  evening  stroll  in  the  green  lane.  If  in  town, 
it  is  perhaps  merely  a  stolen  moment  of  delicious  talk  between 
the  bars  of  the  area,  fearful  every  instant  of  being  seen ;  and 
then,  how  lightly  will  the  simple  creature  carol  all  day  afterwards 
at  her  labor ! 

Poor  baggage !  after  all  her  crosses  and  difficulties,  when  she 


364  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

marries,  what  is  it  but  to  exchange  a  life  of  comparative  ease  and 
comfort,  for  one  of  toil  and  uncertainty  f  Perhaps,  too,  the  lover 
for  whom  in  the  fondness  of  her  nature  she  has  committed  herself 
to  fortune's  freaks,  turns  out  a  worthless  churl,  the  dissolute, 
hardhearted  husband  of  low  life ;  who,  taking  to  the  ale-house, 
leaves  her  to  a  cheerless  home,  to  labor,  penury,  and  child- 
bearing. 

When  I  see  poor  Phoebe  going  about  with  drooping  eye,  and 
her  head  hanging  "  all  o'  one  side,"  I  cannot  help  calling  to 
mind  the  pathetic  little  picture  drawn  by  Desdemona : — 

"  My  mother  had  a  maid  called  Barbara ; 
She  was  in  love  ;  and  he  she  loved  proved  mad, 
And  did  forsake  her;  she  had  a  song  of  willow, 
An  old  thing  'twas ;  but  it  express'd  her  fortune, 
And  she  died  singing  it." 

I  hope,  however,  that  a  better  lot  is  in  reserve  for  Phoebe  Wil- 
kins,  and  that  she  may  yet  "  rule  the  roast,"  in  the  ancient  em 
pire  of  the  Tibbetses !  She  is  not  fit  to  battle  with  hard  hearts  or 
hard  tunes.  She  was,  I  am  told,  the  pet  of  her  poor  mother,  who 
was  proud  of  the  beauty  of  her  child,  and  brought  her  up  more 
tenderly  than  a  village  girl  ought  to  be ;  and  ever  since  she  has 
been  left  an  orphan,  the  good  ladies  of  the  Hall  have  completed 
the  softening  and  spoiling  of  her. 

I  have  recently  observed  her  holding  long  conferences  in  the 
church-yard,  and  up  and  down  one  of  the  lanes  near  the  village, 
with  Slingsby  the  schoolmaster.  I  at  first  thought  the  pedagogue 
might  be  touched  with  the  tender  malady  so  prevalent  in  these 
parts  of  late ;  but  I  did  him  injustice.  Honest  Slingsby,  it  seems, 
was  a  friend  and  crony  of  her  late  father,  the  parish  clerk ;  and 


LOVERS'  TROUBLES.  365 

is  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Tibbets  family :  prompted,  there 
fore,  by  his  good-will  towards  all  parties,  and  secretly  instigated, 
perhaps,  by  the  managing  dame  Tibbets,  he  has  undertaken  to 
talk  with  Phoebe  upon  the  subject.  He  gives  her,  however,  but 
little  encouragement.  Slingsby  has  a  formidable  opinion  of  the 
aristocratical  feeling  of  old  Eeady-Money,  and  thinks,  if  Phoebe 
were  even  to  make  the  matter  up  with  the  son,  she  would  find  the 
father  totally  hostile  to  the  match.  The  poor  damsel,  therefore, 
is  reduced  almost  to  despair ;  and  Slingsby,  who  is  too  good- 
natured  not  to  sympathize  in  her  distress,  has  advised  her  to  give 
up  all  thoughts  of  young  Jack,  and  has  proposed  as  a  substitute 
his  learned  coadjutor,  the  prodigal  son.  He  has  even,  in  the  ful 
ness  of  his  heart,  offered  to  give  up  the  school-house  to  them ; 
though  it  would  leave  him  once  more  adrift  in  the  wide  world. 


THE  HISTORIAN. 

Jlermione.  Tray  you  sit  by  us, 

And  toll's  a  tale. 

Mamilius.  Merry  or  sad  shall't  be  ? 

Hermione.    As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mamilius.  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter. 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Hermione.  Let's  have  that,  sir. 

WINTER'S  TALE. 

As  this  is  a  story-telling  age,  I  have  been  tempted  occasionally 
to  give  the  reader  one  of  the  many  tales  served  up  with  supper 
at  the  Hall.  I  might,  indeed,  have  furnished  a  series  almost 
equal  in  number  to  the  Arabian  Nights ;  but  some  were  rather 
hackneyed  and  tedious ;  others  I  did  not  feel  warranted  in  betray 
ing  into  print ;  and  many  more  were  of  the  old  general's  relating, 
and  turned  principally  upon  tiger-hunting,  elephant-riding,  and 
Seringapatam,  enlivened  by  the  wonderful  deeds  of  Tippoo  Saib, 
and  the  excellent  jokes  of  Major  Pendergast. 

I  had  all  along  maintained  a  quiet  post  at  a  corner  of  the 
table,  where  I  had  been  able  to  indulge  my  humor  undisturbed ; 
listening  attentively  when  the  story  was  very  good,  and  dozing  a 
little  when  it  was  rather  dull,  which  I  consider  the  perfection  of 
auditorship. 

I  was  roused  the  other  evening  from  a  slight  trance  into  which 


THE   HISTORIAN.  367 

I  had  fallen  during  one  of  the  general's  histories,  by  a  sudden 
call  from  the  Squire  to  furnish  some  entertainment  of  the  kind  in 
my  turn.  Having  been  so  profound  a  listener  to  others,  I  could 
not  in  conscience  refuse ;  but  neither  my  memory  nor  invention 
being  ready  to  answer  so  unexpected  a  demand,  I  begged  leave 
to  read  a  manuscript  tale  from  the  pen  of  my  fellow-countryman, 
the  late  Mr.  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  the  historian  of  New  York. 
As  this  ancient  chronicler  may  not  be  better  known  to  my  readers 
than  he  was  to  the  company  at  the  Hall,  a  word  or  two  concern 
ing  him  may  not  be  amiss,  before  proceeding  to  his  manuscript. 

Diedrich  Knickerbocker  was  a  native  of  New  York,  a  de 
scendant  from  one  of  the  ancient  Dutch  families  which  originally 
settled  that  province,  and  remained  there  after  it  was  taken  pos 
session  of  by  the  English  in  1664.  The  descendants  of  these 
Dutch  families  still  remain  in  villages  and  neighborhoods  in  vari 
ous  parts  of  the  country,  retaining,  with  singular  obstinacy,  the 
dresses,  manners,  and  even  language  of  their  ancestors,  and 
forming  a  very  distinct  and  curious  feature  in  the  motley  popula 
tion  of  the  State.  In  a  hamlet  whose  spire  may  be  seen  from 
New  York,  rising  from  above  the  brow  of  a  hill  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  Hudson,  many  of  the  old  folks,  even  at  the  present 
day,  speak  English  with  an  accent,  and  the  Dominie  preaches  in 
Dutch ;  and  so  completely  is  the  hereditary  love  of  quiet  and 
silence  maintained,  that  in  one  of  these  drowsy  villages,  in  the 
middle  of  a  warm  summer's  day,  the  buzzing  of  a  stout  blue-bot 
tle  fly  will  resound  from  one  end  of  the  place  to  the  other. 

With  the  laudable  hereditary  feeling  thus  kept  up  among 
these  worthy  people,  did  Mr.  Knickerbocker  undertake  to  write 
a  history  of  his  native  city,  comprising  the  reign  of  its  three 
Dutch  governors  during  the  time  that  it  was  yet  under  the  domi- 


368  BBACEBEIDGE  HAUL. 

nation  of  the  Hogenmogens  of  Holland.  In  the  execution  of 
this  design,  the  little  Dutchman  has  displayed  great  historical 
research,  and  a  wonderful  consciousness  of  the  dignity  of  his 
subject.  His  work,  however,  has  been  so  little  understood,  as  to 
be  pronounced  a  mere  work  of  humor,  satirizing  the  follies  of  the 
times,  both  in  politics  and  morals,  and  giving  whimsical  views  of 
human  nature. 

Be  this  as  it  may : — among  the  papers  left  behind  him  were 
several  tales  of  a  lighter  nature,  apparently  thrown  together  from 
materials  gathered  during  his  profound  researches  for  his  history, 
and  which  he  seems  to  have  cast  by  with  neglect,  as  unworthy  of 
publication.  Some  of  these  have  fallen  into  my  hands  by  an 
accident  which  it  is  needless  at  present  to  mention  ;  and  one  of 
these  very  stories,  with  its  prelude  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Knicker 
bocker,  I  undertook  to  read,  by  way  of  acquitting  myself  of  the 
debt  which  I  owed  to  the  other  story-tellers  at  the  Hall.  I  sub 
join  it  for  such  of  my  readers  as  are  fond  of  stories. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

FROM   THE   MSS.    OF    THE    LATE    DIEDKICH   KNICKERBOCKER. 

Formerly  almost  every  place  had  a  house  of  this  kind.  If  a  house  was  seated  on 
some  melancholy  place,  or  built  in  some  old  romantic  manner,  or  if  any  particular 
accident  had  happened  in  it,  such  ns  murder,  sudden  death,  or  the  like,  to  be  sure  that 
house  had  a  mark  set  on  it,  and  was  afterwards  esteemed  the  habitation  of  a  ghost. 

BOFENE'S  AHTIQUITIES. 

IN  the  neighborhood  of  the  ancient  city  of  the  Manhattoes  there 
stood,  not  very  many  years  since,  an  old  mansion,  which,  when  I 
was  a  boy,  went  by  the  name  of  the  Haunted  House.  It  was  one 
of  the  very  few  remains  of  the  architecture  of  the  early  Dutch 
settlers,  and  must  have  been  a  house  of  some  consequence  at  the 
time  when  it  was  built.  It  consisted  of  a  centre  and  two  wings, 
the  gable  ends  of  which  Avere  shaped  like  stairs.  It  was  built 
partly  of  wood,  and  partly  of  small  Dutch  bricks,  such  as  the 
worthy  colonists  brought  with  them  from  Holland,  before  they 
discovered  that  bricks  could  be  manufactured  elsewhere.  The 
house  stood  remote  from  the  road,  in  the  centre  of  a  large  field, 
with  an  avenue  of  old  locust  *  trees  leading  up  to  it,  several  of 
which  had  been  shivered  by  lightning,  and  two  or  three  blown 
down.  A  few  apple-trees  grew  straggling  about  the  field ;  there 

*  Acacias. 

16* 


370  BKACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

were  traces  also  of  what  had  been  a  kitchen  garden ;  but  the 
fences  were  broken  down,  the  vegetables  had  disappeared,  or  had 
grown  wild,  and  turned  to  little  better  than  weeds,  with  here  and 
there  a  ragged  rose-bush,  or  a  tall  sunflower  shooting  up  from 
among  the  brambles,  and  hanging  its  head  sorrowfully,  as  if  con 
templating  the  surrounding  desolation.  Part  of  the  roof  of  the 
old  house  had  fallen  in,  the  windows  were  shattered,  the  panels  of 
the  doors  broken,  and  mended  with  rough  boards,  and  two  rusty 
weather-cocks  at  the  ends  of  the  house  made  a  great  jingling  and 
'whistling  as  they  whirled  about,  but  always  pointed  wrong.  The 
appearance  of  the  whole  place  was  forlorn  and  desolate  at  the 
best  of  times ;  but,  in  unruly  weather,  the  howling  of  the  wind 
about  the  crazy  old  mansion,  the  screeching  of  the  weather-cocks, 
and  the  slamming  and  banging  of  a  few  loose  window-shutters, 
had  altogether  so  wild  and  dreary  an  effect,  that  the  neighborhood 
stood  perfectly  in  awe  of  the  place,  and  pronounced  it  the  rendez 
vous  of  hobgoblins.  I  recollect  the  old  building  well ;  for  many 
times,  when  an  idle,  unlucky  urchin,  I  have  prowled  round  its 
precinct,  with  some  of  my  graceless  companions,  on  holiday  after 
noons,  when  out  on  a  freebooting  cruise  among  the  orchards. 
There  was  a  tree  standing  near  the  house  that  bore  the  most 
beautiful  and  tempting  fruit;  but  then  it  was  on  enchanted 
ground,  for  the  place  was  so  charmed  by  frightful  stories  that  we 
dreaded  to  approach  it.  Sometimes  we  would  venture  in  a  body, 
and  get  near  the  Hesperian  tree,  keeping  an  eye  upon  the  old 
mansion,  and  darting  fearful  glances  into  its  shattered  windows, 
when,  just  as  we  were  about  to  seize  upon  our  prize,  an  exclama 
tion  from  some  one  of  the  gang,  or  an  accidental  noise,  would 
throw  us  all  into  a  panic,  and  we  would  scamper  headlong  from 
the  place,  nor  stop  until  we  had  got  quite  into  the  road.  Then 


THE   HAUNTED    HOUSE.  371 

there  were  sure  to  be  a  host  of  fearful  anecdotes  told  of  strange 
cries  and  groans,  or  of  some  hideous  face  suddenly  seen  staring 
out  of  one  of  the  windows.  By  degrees  AVC  ceased  to  venture 
into  these  lonely  grounds,  but  would  stand  at  a  distance,  and 
throw  stones  at  the  building ;  and  there  was  something  fearfully 
pleasing  in  the  sound  as  they  rattled  along  the  roof,  or  sometimes 
struck  some  jingling  fragments  of  glass  out  of  the  windows. 

The  origin  of  this  house  was  lost  in  the  obscurity  that  covers 
the  early  period  of  the  province,  while  under  the  government  of 
their  high  mightinesses  the  states-general.  Some  reported  it  lo 
have  been  a  country  residence  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  commonly 
called  the  Testy,  one  of  the  Dutch  governors  of  New  Amsterdam  ; 
others  said  it  had  been  built  by  a  naval  commander  who  served 
under  Van  Tromp,  and  who,  on  being  disappointed  of  preferment, 
retired  from  the  service  in  disgust,  became  a  philosopher  through 
sheer  spite,  and  brought  over  all  his  wealth  to  the  province,  that 
he  might  live  according  to  his  liumor,  and  despise  the  world. 
The  reason  of  its  having  fallen  to  decay  was  likewise  a  matter  of 
dispute ;  some  said  it  was  in  chancery,  and  had  already  cost  more 
than  its  worth  in  legal  expense ;  but  the  most  current,  and,  of 
course,  the  most  probable  account,  was  that  it  was  haunted,  and 
that  nobody  could  live  quietly  in  it.  There  can,  in  fact,  be  very 
little  doubt  that  this  last  was  the  case,  there  were  so  many  cor 
roborating  stories  to  prove  it, — not  an  old  woman  in  the  neighbor 
hood  but  could  furnish  at  least  a  score.  A  grayheaded  curmud 
geon  of  a  negro  who  lived  hard  by  had  a  whole  budget  of  them 
to  tell,  many  of  which  had  happened  to  himself.  I  recollect  many 
a  time  stopping  with  my  schoolmates,  and  getting  him  to  relate 
some.  The  old  crone  lived  in  a  hovel,  in  the  midst  of  a  small 
patch  of  potatoes  and  Indian  corn,  which  his  master  had  given 


372  BEACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

nim  on  setting  him  free.  He  would  come  to  ns,  with  his  hoe  in 
his  hand,  and  as  we  sat  perched,  like  a  row  of  swallows,  on  the 
rail  of  the  fence,  in  the  mellow  twilight  of  a  summer  evening, 
would  tell  us  such  fearful  stories,  accompanied  hy  such  awful  roll 
ings  of  his  white  eyes,  that  we  were  almost  afraid  of  our  own 
footsteps  as  we  returned  home  afterwards  in  the  dark. 

Poor  old  Pompey !  many  years  are  past  since  he  died,  and 
went  to  keep  company  with  the  ghosts  he  was  so  fond  of  talking 
about.  He  was  buried  in  a  corner  of  his  own  little  potato  patch ; 
the  plough  soon  passed  over  his  grave,  and  levelled  it  with  the 
rest  of  the  field,  and  nobody  thought  any  more  of  the  grayheaded 
negro.  By  singular  chance  I  was  strolling  in  that  neighborhood, 
several  years  afterwards,  when  I  had  grown  up  to  be  a  young 
man,  and  I  found  a  knot  of  gossips  speculating  on  a  skull  which 
had  just  been  turned  up  by  a  ploughshare.  They  of  course  de 
termined  it  to  be  the  remains  of  some  one  who  had  been  mur 
dered,  and  they  had  raked  up  with  it  some  of  the  traditionary 
tales  of  the  haunted  house.  I  knew  it  at  once  to  be  the  relic  of 
poor  Pompey,  but  I  held  my  tongue ;  for  I  am  too  considerate  of 
other  people's  enjoyment  even  to  mar  a  story  of  a  ghost  or  a 
murder.  I  took  care,  however,  to  see  the  bones  of  my  old  friend 
once  more  buried  in  a  place  where  they  were  not  likely  to  be 
disturbed.  As  I  sat  on  the  turf  and  watched  the  interment,  I 
fell  into  a  long  conversation  with  an  old  gentleman  of  the  neigh 
borhood,  John  Josse  Vandermoere,  a  pleasant  gossiping  man, 
whose  whole  life  was  spent  in  hearing  and  telling  the  news  of  the 
province.  He  recollected  old  Pompey,  and  his  stories  about  the 
Haunted  House ;  but  he  assured  me  he  could  give  me  one  still 
more  strange  than  any  that  Pompey  had  related ;  and  on  my 
expressing  a  great  curiosity  to  hear  it,  he  sat  down  beside  me  on 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE. 


3V3 


the  turf,  and  told  the  following  tale.  I  have  endeavored  to  give 
it  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his  words ;  but  it  is  now  many  years 
since,  and  I  am  grown  old,  and  my  memory  is  not  over  good.  I 
cannot  therefore  vouch  for  the  language,  but  I  am  always  scrupu 
lous  as  to  facts. 

D.  K. 


DOLPH  HEYLIGER. 

"  I  take  the  town  of  concord,  where  I  dwell, 
All  Kilborn  be  my  witness,  if  I  were  not 
Begot  in  bashfulness,  brought  up  in  shamefacedness : 
Let  'un  bring  a  dog  but  to  my  vace  that  can 
Zay  I  have  beat  'un,  and  without  a  vault ; 
Or  but  a  cat  will  swear  upon  a  book, 
I  have  as  much  as  zet  a  virc  her  tail, 
And  I'll  give  him  or  her  a  crown  for  'mends." 

TALE  OF  A  TUB. 

IN  the  early  time  of  the  province  of  New  York,  while  it  groaned 
under  the  tyranny  of  the  English  governor,  Lord  Cornbury,  who 
carried  his  cruelties  towards  the  Dutch  inhabitants  so  far  as  to 
allow  no  Dominie,  or  schoolmaster,  to  officiate  in  their  language, 
without  his  special  license ;  alx>ut  this  time,  there  lived  in  the 
jolly  little  old  city  of  the  Manhattoes,  a  kind  motherly  dame, 
known  by  the  name  of  Dame  Heyliger.  She  was  the  widow  of 
a  Dutch  sea-captain,  who  died  suddenly  of  a  fever,  in  conse 
quence  of  working  too  hard,  and  eating  too  heartily,  at  the  time 
when  all  the  inhabitants  turned  out  in  a  panic,  to  fortify  the  place 
against  the  invasion  of  a  small  French  privateer.*  He  left  her 
with  very  little  money,  and  one  infant  son,  the  only  survivor  of 
several  children.  The  good  woman  had  need  of  much  manage- 

*  1705. 


DOLPH   HETLIGEE.  375 

ment  to  make  both  ends  meet,  and  keep  up  a  decent  appearance. 
However,  as  her  husband  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  zeal  for  the 
public  safety,  it  was  universally  agreed  that  "  something  ought  to 
be  done  for  the  widow ; "  and  on  the  hopes  of  this  "  something  " 
she  lived  tolerably  for  some  years ;  in  the  mean  time  every  body 
pitied  and  spoke  well  of  her,  and  that  helped  along. 

She  lived  in  a  small  house,  in  a  small  street,  called  Garden- 
street,  very  probably  from  a  garden  which  may  have  flourished 
there  some  time  or  other.  As  her  necessities  every  year  grew 
greater,  and  the  talk  of  the  public  about  doing  "  something  for 
her"  grew  less,  she  had  to  cast  about  for  some  mode  of  doing 
something  for  herself,  by  way  of  helping  out  her  slender  means, 
and  maintaining  her  independence,  of  which  she  was  somewhat 
tenacious. 

Living  in  a  mercantile  town,  she  had  caught  something  of  the 
spirit,  and  determined  to  venture  a  little  in  the  great  lottery  of 
commerce.  On  a  sudden,  therefore,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the 
street,  there  appeared  at  her  window  a  grand  array  of  ginger 
bread  kings  and  queens,  with  their  arms  stuck  a-kimbo,  after  the 
invariable  royal  manner.  There  were  also  several  broken  tum 
blers,  some  filled  with  sugar-plums,  some  with  marbles ;  there 
were,  moreover,  cakes  of  various  kinds,  and  barley-sugar,  and 
Holland  dolls,  and  wooden  horses,  with  here  and  there  gilt-covered 
picture-books,  and  now  and  then  a  skein  of  thread,  or  a  dangling 
pound  of  candles.  At  the  door  of  the  house  sat  the  good  old 
dame's  cat,  a  decent  demure-looking  personage,  who  seemed  to 
scan  every  body  that  passed,  to  criticise  their  dress,  and  now  and 
then  to  stretch  her  neck,  and  to  look  out  with  sudden  curiosity,  to 
see  what  was  going  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  street ;  but  if  by 
chance  any  idle  vagabond  dog  came  by,  and  offered  to  be  uncivil 


376  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

— hoity-toity! — how  she  would  bristle  up,  and  growl,  and  spit, 
and  strike  out  her  paws !  she  was  as  indignant  as  ever  was  an 
ancient  and  ugly  spinster  on  the  approach  of  some  graceless 
profligate. 

But  though  the  good  woman  had  to  come  down  to  those  hum 
ble  means  of  subsistence,  yet  she  still  kept  up  a  feeling  of  family 
pride,  being  descended  from  the  Vanderspiegels,  of  Amsterdam ; 
and  she  had  the  family  arms  painted  and  framed,  and  hung  over 
her  mantel-piece.  She  was,  in  truth,  much  respected  by  all  the 
poorer  people  of  the  place ;  her  house  was  quite  a  resort  of  the 
old  wives  of  the  neighborhood ;  they  would  drop  in  there  of  a 
winter's  afternoon,  as  she  sat  knitting  on  one  side  of  her  fireplace, 
her  cat  purring  on  the  other,  and  the  tea-kettle  singing  before  it ; 
and  they  would  gossip  with  her  until  late  in  the  evening.  There 
was  always  an  arm-chair  for  Peter  de  Groodt,  sometimes  called 
Long  Peter,  and  sometimes  Peter  Longlegs,  the  clerk  and  sexton 
of  the  little  Lutheran  church,  who  was  her  great  crony,  and  in 
deed  the  oracle  of  her  fireside.  Nay,  the  Dominie  himself  did 
not  disdain,  now  and  then,  to  step  in,  converse  about  the  state  of 
her  mind,  and  take  a  glass  of  her  special  good  cherry  brandy. 
Indeed,  he  never  failed  to  call  on  new-year's  day,  and  wish  her  a 
happy  new  year ;  and  the  good  dame,  who  was  a  little  vain  on 
some  points,  always  piqued  herself  on  giving  him  as  large  a  cake 
as  any  one  in  town. 

I  have  said  that  she  had  one  son.  He  was  the  child  of  her 
old  age ;  but  could  hardly  be  called  the  comfort,  for,  of  all  un 
lucky  urchins,  Dolph  Heyliger  was  the  most  mischievous.  Not 
that  the  whipster  was  really  vicious ;  he  was  only  full  of  fun  and 
frolic,  and  had  that  daring,  gamesome  spirit,  which  is  extolled  in 
a  rich  man's  child,  but  execrated  in  a  poor  man's.  He  was  con- 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  377 

tinually  getting  into  scrapes :  his  mother  was  incessantly  harassed 
with  complaints  of  some  waggish  pranks  which  he  had  played  off; 
bills  were  sent  in  for  windows  that  he  had  broken  ;  in  a  word,  he 
had  not  reached  his  fourteenth  year  before  he  was  pronounced,  by 
all  the  neighborhood,  to  be  a  "  wicked  dog,  the  wickedest  dog  in 
the  street !  "  Nay,  one  old  gentleman,  in  a  claret-colored  coat, 
with  a  thin  red  face,  and  ferret  eyes,  went  so  far  as  to  assure 
Dame  Heyliger,  that  her  son  Avould,  one  day  or  other,  come  to  the 
gallows ! 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  poor  old  soul  loved  her  boy. 
It  seemed  as  though  she  loved  him  the  better  the  worse  he  be 
haved  ;  and  that  he  grew  more  in  her  favor,  the  more  he  grew 
out  of  favor  with  the  world.  Mothers  are  foolish,  fond-hearted 
beings  ;  there's  no  reasoning  them  out  of  their  dotage ;  and,  in 
deed,  this  poor  woman's  child  was  all  that  was  left  to  love  her  in 
this  world ; — so  we  must  not  think  it  hard  that  she  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  her  good  friends,  who  sought  to  prove  to  her  that  Dolph 
Avould  come  to  a  halter. 

To  do  the  varlet  justice,  too,  he  was  strongly  attached  to  his 
parent.  He  would  not  willingly  have  given  her  pain  on  any  ac 
count  ;  and  when  he  had  been  doing  wrong,  it  was  but  for  him  to 
catch  his  poor  mother's  eye  fixed  wistfully  and  sorrowfully  upon 
him,  to  fill  his  heart  with  bitterness  and  contrition.  But  he  was 
a  heedless  youngster,  and  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  resist  any 
new  temptation  to  fun  and  mischief.  Though  quick  at  his  learning, 
whenever  he  could  be  brought  to  apply  himself,  he  was  always 
prone  to  be  led  away  by  idle  company,  and  would  play  truant  to 
hunt  after  birds'  nests,  to  rob  orchards,  or  to  swim  in  the  Hudson. 

In  this  way  he  grew  up,  a  tall,  lubberly  boy ;  and  his  mother 
began  to  be  greatly  perplexed  what  to  do  with  him,  or  how  to  put 


378  BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 

him  in  a  way  to  do  for  himself;  for  he  had  acquired  such  an  un 
lucky  reputation,  that  no  one  seemed  willing  to  employ  him. 

Many  were  the  consultations  that  she  held  with  Peter  de 
Groodt,  the  clerk  and  sexton,  who  was  her  prime  counsellor. 
Peter  was  as  much  perplexed  as  herself,  for  he  had  no  great  opin 
ion  of  the  boy,  and  thought  he  would  never  come  to  good.  He 
at  one  time  advised  her  to  send  him  to  sea ;  a  piece  of  advice  only 
given  in  the  most  desperate  cases ;  but  Dame  Heyliger  would  not 
listen  to  such  an  idea ;  she  could  not  think  of  letting  Dolph  go 
out  of  her  sight.  She  was  sitting  one  day  knitting  by  her  fire 
side,  in  great  perplexity,  when  the  sexton  entered  with  an  air  of 
unusual  vivacity  and  briskness.  He  had  just  come  from  a  fune 
ral.  It  had  been  that  of  a  boy  of  Dolph's  years,  who  had  been 
apprentice  to  a  famous  German  doctor,  and  had  died  of  a  con 
sumption.  It  is  true,  there  had  been  a  whisper  that  the  deceased 
had  been  brought  to  his  end  by  being  made  the  subject  of  the 
doctor's  experiments,  on  which  he  was  apt  to  try  the  effects  of  a 
new  compound,  or  a  quieting  draught.  This,  however,  it  is  likely, 
was  a  mere  scandal ;  at  any  rate,  Peter  de  Groodt  did  not  think  it 
worth  mentioning ;  though,  had  we  time  to  philosophize,  it  would  be 
a  curious  matter  for  speculation,  why  a  doctor's  family  is  apt  to  be 
so  lean  and  cadaverous,  and  a  butcher's  so  jolly  and  rubicund. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  as  I  said  before,  entered  the  house  of  Dame 
Heyliger  with  unusual  alacrity.  A  bright  idea  had  popped  into 
his  head  at  the  funeral,  over  which  he  had  chuckled  as  he  shovelled 
the  earth  into  the  grave  of  the  doctor's  disciple.  It  had  occurred 
to  him,  that,  as  the  situation  of  the  deceased  was  vacant  at  the 
doctor's,  it  would  be  the  very  place  for  Dolph.  The  boy  had 
parts,  and  could  pound  a  pestle,  and  run  an  errand  with  any  boy 
in  the  town,  and  what  more  was  wanted  in  a  student  ? 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEK.  379 

The  suggestion  of  the  sage  Peter  was  a  vision  of  glory  to  the 
mother.  She  already  saw  Dolph,  in  her  mind's  eye,  with  a  cane 
at  his  nose,  a  knocker  at  his  door,  and  an  M.  D.  at  the  end  of 
his  name — one  of  the  established  dignitaries  of  the  town. 

The  matter  once  undertaken,  was  soon  effected :  the  sexton 
had  some  influence  with  the  doctor,  they  having  had  much  deal 
ing  together  in  the  way  of  their  separate  professions ;  and  the 
very  next  morning  he  called  and  conducted  the  urchin,  clad  in 
his  Sunday  clothes,  to  undergo  the  inspection  of  Dr.  Karl  Lodo- 
vick  Knipperhausen. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  an  elbow-chair,  in  one  corner 
of  his  study,  or  laboratory,  with  a  large  volume,  in  German  print, 
before  him.  He  was  a  short  fat  man,  with  a  dark  square  face, 
rendered  more  dark  by  a  black  velvet  cap.  He  had  a  little  nob 
bed  nose,  not  unlike  the  ace  of  spades,  with  a  pair  of  spectacles 
gleaming  on  each  side  of  his  dusky  countenance,  like  a  couple  of 
bow  Avindows. 

Dolph  felt  struck  with  awe  on  entering  into  the  presence  of 
this  learned  man ;  and  gazed  about  him  with  boyish  wonder  at  the 
furniture  of  this  chamber  of  knowledge ;  which  appeared  to  him 
almost  as  the  den  of  a  magician.  In  the  centre  stood  a  claw- 
footed  table,  with  pestle  and  mortar,  phials  and  gallipots,  and  a 
pair  of  small  burnished  scales.  At  one  end  was  a  heavy  clothes- 
press,  turned  into  a  receptacle  for  drugs  and  compounds ;  against 
which  hung  the  doctor's  hat  and  cloak,  and  gold-headed  cane,  and 
on  the  top  grinned  a  human  skull.  Along  the  mantel-piece  were 
glass  vessels,  in  which  were  snakes  and  lizards,  and  a  human  foetus 
preserved  in  spirits.  A  closet,  the  doors  of  which  were  taken  off, 
contained  three  whole  shelves  of  books,  and  some,  too,  of  mighty 
folio  dimensions ;  a  collection,  the  like  of  which  Dolph  had  never 


380  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

before  beheld.  As,  however,  the  library  did  not  take  up  the 
whole  of  the  closet,  the  doctor's  thrifty  housekeeper  had  occupied 
the  rest  with  pots  of  pickles  and  preserves ;  and  had  hung  about 
the  room,  among  awful  implements  of  the  healing  art,  strings  of 
red  pepper  and  corpulent  cucumbers,  carefully  preserved  for  seed. 

Peter  de  Groodt  and  his  protego  were  received  with  great 
gravity  and  stateliness  by  the  doctor,  who  was  a  very  wise,  digni 
fied  little  man,  and  never  smiled.  He  surveyed  Dolph  from  head 
to  foot,  above,  and  under,  and  through  his  spectacles,  and  the  poor 
lad's  heart  quailed  as  these  great  glasses  glared  on  him  like  two 
full  moons.  The  doctor  heard  all  that  Peter  de  Groodt  had  to 
say  in  favor  of  the  youthful  candidate ;  and  then  wetting  his 
thumb  with  the  end  of  his  tongue,  he  began  deliberately  to  turn 
over  page  after  page  of  the  great  black  volume  before  him.  At 
length,  after  many  hums  and  haws,  and  strokings  of  the  chin,  and 
all  that  hesitation  and  deliberation  with  which  a  wise  man  pro 
ceeds  to  do  what  he  intended  to  do  from  the  very  first,  the  doctor 
agreed  to  take  the  lad  as  a  disciple ;  to  give  him  bed,  board,  and 
clothing,  and  to  instruct  him  in  the  healing  art ;  in  return  for 
which  he  was  to  have  his  services  until  his  twenty-first  year. 

Behold,  then,  our  hero,  all  at  once  transformed  from  an  un 
lucky  urchin,  running  wjld  about  the  streets,  to  a  student  of  medi 
cine,  diligently  pounding  a  pestle,  under  the  auspices  of  the 
learned  Doctor  Karl  Ix)dovick  Knipperhausen.  It  was  a  happy 
transition  for  his  fond  old  mother.  She  was  delighted  with  the 
idea  of  her  boy's  being  brought  up  worthy  of  his  ancestors ;  and 
-anticipated  the  day  when  he  would  be  able  to  hold  up  his  head 
with  the  lawyer,  that  lived  in  the  large  house  opposite  ;  or,  per- 
advcnture,  with  the  Dominie  himself. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen  was  a  native  of  the  Palatinate  in  Ger- 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEB.  381 

many ;  whence,  in  company  with  many  of  his  countrymen,  he 
had  taken  refuge  in  England,  on  account  of  religious  persecution. 
He  was  one  of  nearly  three  thousand  Palatines,  who  came  over 
from  England  in  1710,  under  the  protection  of  Governor  Hunter. 
Where  the  doctor  had  studied,  how  he  had  acquired  his  medical 
knowledge,  and  where  he  had  received  his  diploma,  it  is  hard  at 
present  to  say,  for  nobody  knew  at  the  time ;  yet  it  is  certain 
that  his  profound  skill  and  abstruse  knowledge  were  the  talk  and 
wonder  of  the  common  people,  far  and  near. 

His  practice  was  totally  different  from  that  of  any  other  phy 
sician  ;  consisting  in  mysterious  compounds,  known  only  to  him 
self,  in  the  preparing  and  administering  of  which,  it  was  said,  he 
always  consulted  the  stars.  So  high  an  opinion  was  entertained 
of  his  skill,  particularly  by  the  German  and  Dutch  inhabitants, 
that  they  always  resorted  to  him  in  desperate  cases.  He  was  one 
of  those  infallible  doctors,  that  are  always  effecting  sudden  and 
surprising  cures,  Avhen  the  patient  has  been  given  up  by  all  the 
regular  physicians ;  unless,  as  is  shrewdly  observed,  the  case  has 
been  left  too  long  before  it  was  put  into  their  hands.  The  doc 
tor's  library  was  the  talk  and  marvel  of  the  neighborhood,  I 
might  almost  say  of  the  entire  burgh.  The  good  people  looked 
with  reverence  at  a  man  who  had  read  three  Avhole  shelves  full 
of  books,  and  some  of  them,  too,  as  large  as  a  family  Bible. 
There  were  many  disputes  among  the  members  of  the  little  Lu 
theran  church,  as  to  which  was  the  wisest  man,  the  doctor  or  the 
Dominie.  Some  of  his  admirers  even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that 
he  knew  more  than  the  governor  himself — in  a  word,  it  was 
thought  that  there  was  no  end  to  his  knowledge  ! 

No  sooner  was  Dolph  received  into  the  doctor's  family,  than 
he  was  put  in  possession  of  the  lodging  of  his  predecessor.  It 


382  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

was  a  garret-room  of  a  steep-roofed  Dutch  bouse,  where  the  rain 
had  pattered  on  the  shingles,  and  the  lightning  gleamed,  and  the 
wind  piped  through  the  crannies  in  stormy  weather ;  and  where 
whole  troops  of  hungry  rats,  like  Don  Cossacks,  galloped  about, 
in  defiance  of  traps  and  ratsbane. 

He  was  soon  up  to  his  ears  in  medical  studies,  being  employed, 
morning,  noon,  and  night,  in  rolling  pills,  filtering  tinctures,  or 
pounding  the  pestle  and  mortar  in  one  corner  of  the  laboratory ; 
while  the  doctor  would  take  his  seat  in  another  corner,  when  he 
had  nothing  else  to  do,  or  expected  visitors,  and  arrayed  in  his 
morning-gown  and  velvet  cap,  would  pore  over  the  contents  of 
some  folio  volume.  It  is  true,  that  the  regular  thumping  of 
Dolph's  pestle,  or,  perhaps,  the  drowsy  buzzing  of  the  summer 
flies,  would  now  and  then  lull  the  little  man  into  a  slumber ;  but 
then  his  spectacles  were  always  wide  awake,  and  studiously  re 
garding  the  book. 

There  was  another  personage  in  the  house,  however,  to  whom 
Dolph  was  obliged  to  pay  allegiance.  Though  a  bachelor,  and  a 
man  of  such  great  dignity  and  importance,  the  doctor  was,  like 
many  other  wise  men,  subject  to  petticoat  government.  He  was 
completely  under  the  sway  of  his  housekeeper ;  a  spare,  busy, 
fretting  housewife,  in  a  little,  round,  quilted  German  cap,  with  a 
huge  bunch  of  keys  jingling  at  the  girdle  of  an  exceedingly  long 
waist.  Frau  Ilse  (or  Frow  Ilsy  as  it  was  pronounced)  had 
•accompanied  him  in  his  various  migrations  from  Germany  to 
England,  and  from  England  to  the  province ;  managing  his 
establishment  and  himself  too :  ruling  him,  it  is  true,  with  a  gentle 
hand,  but  carrying  a  high  hand  with  all  the  world  beside.  How 
she  had  acquired  such  ascendency  I  do  not  pretend  to  say.  Peo 
ple,  it  is  true,  did  talk — but  have  not  people  been  prone  to  talk 


DOLPU   HEYLIGEB.  383 

ever  since  the  world  began  ?  Who  can  tell  how  women  generally 
contrive  to  get  the  upper  hand  ?  A  husband,  it  is  true,  may  now 
and  then  be  master  in  his  own  house ;  but  who  ever  knew  a 
bachelor  that  was  not  managed  by  his  housekeeper  ? 

Indeed,  Frau  Ilsy's  power  was  not  confined  to  the  doctor's 
household.  She  was  one  of  those  prying  gossips  who  know  every 
one's  business  better  than  they  do  themselves ;  and  whose  all- 
seeing  eyes,  and  all-telling  tongues,  are  terrors  throughout  a 
neighborhood. 

Nothing  of  any  moment  transpired  in  the  world  of  scandal 
of  this  little  burgh,  but  it  was  known  to  Frau  Ilsy.  She  had  her 
crew  of  cronies,  that  were  perpetually  hurrying  to  her  little  parlor 
with  some  precious  bit  of  news ;  nay,  she  Avould  sometimes  dis 
cuss  a  whole  volume  of  secret  history,  as  she  held  the  street  door 
ajar,  and  gossiped  with  one  of  these  garrulous  cronies  in  the  very 
teeth  of  a  December  blast. 

Between  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper  it  may  easily  be 
supposed  that  Dolph  had  a  busy  life  of  it.  As  Frau  Ilsy  kept 
the  keys,  and  literally  ruled  the  roast,  it  was  starvation  to  offend 
her,  though  he  found  the  study  of  her  temper  more  perplexing 
even  than  that  of  medicine.  When  not  busy  in  the  laboratory, 
she  kept  him  running  hither  and  thither  on  her  errands ;  and  on 
Sundays  he  was  obliged  to  accompany  her  to  and  from  church, 
and  carry  her  Bible.  Many  a  time  has  the  poor  varlet  stood 
shivering  and  blowing  his  fingers,  or  holding  his  frost-bitten  nose, 
in  the  church-yard,  while  Ilsy  and  her  cronies  were  huddled  to 
gether,  wagging  their  heads,  and  tearing  some  unlucky  character 
to  pieces. 

With  all  his  advantages,  however,  Dolph  made  very  slow 
progress  in  his  art.  This  was  no  fault  of  the  doctor's,  certainly, 


884  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

for  he  took  unwearied  pains  with  the  lad,  keeping  him  close  to 
the  pestle  and  mortar,  or  on  the  trot  about  town  with  phials  and 
pill-boxes ;  and  if  he  ever  flagged  in  his  industry,  which  he  was 
rather  apt  to  do,  the  doctor  would  fly  into  a  passion,  and  ask  him 
if  he  ever  expected  to  learn  his  profession,  unless  he  applied  him 
self  closer  to  the  study.  The  fact  is,  he  still  retained  the  fond 
ness  for  sport  and  mischief  that  had  marked  his  childhood ;  the 
habit,  indeed,  had  strengthend  with  his  years,  and  gained  force 
from  being  thwarted  and  constrained.  He  daily  grew  more  and 
more  untractable,  and  lost  favor  in  the  eyes,  both  of  the  doctor 
and  the  housekeeper. 

In  the  mean  time  the  doctor  went  on,  waxing  wealthy  and  re 
nowned.  He  was  famous  for  his  skill  in  managing  cases  not  laid 
down  in  the  books.  He  had  cured  several  old  women  and  young 
girls  of  witchcraft ;  a  terrible  complaint,  and  nearly  as  prevalent  in 
the  province  in  those  days  as  hydrophobia  is  at  present.  He  had 
even  restored  one  strapping  country  girl  to  perfect  health,  who 
had  gone  so  far  as  to  vomit  crooked  pins  and  needles ;  which  is 
considered  a  desperate  stage  of  the  malady.  It  was  whispered, 
also,  that  he  was  possessed  of  the  art  of  preparing  love-powders ; 
and  many  applications  had  he  in  consequence  from  love-sick  pa 
tients  of  both  sexes.  But  all  these  cases  formed  the  mysterious 
part  of  his  practice,  in  which,  according  to  the  cant  phrase,  "  se 
crecy  and  honor  might  be  depended  on."  Dolph,  therefore,  was 
obliged  to  turn  out  of  the  study  whenever  such  consultations  oc 
curred,  though  it  is  said  he  learnt  more  of  the  secrets  of  the  art 
at  the  key-hole,  than  by  all  the  rest  of  his  studies  put  together. 

As  the  doctor  increased  in  wealth,  he  began  to  extend  his 
possessions,  and  to  look  forward,  like  other  great  men,  to  the  time 
when  he  should  retire  to  the  repose  of  a  country  seat.  For  this 


DOLPH   HEYLIGER.  385 

purpose  he  had  purchased  a  farm,  or,  as  the  Dutch  settlers  called 
it,  a  bowerie,  a  few  miles  from  town.  It  had  been  the  residence 
of  a  wealthy  family,  that  had  returned  some  time  since  to  Hol 
land.  A  large  mansion-house  stood  in  the  centre  of  it,  very  much 
out  of  repair,  and  which,  in  consequence  of  certain  reports,  had 
received  the  appellation  of  the  Haunted  House.  Either  from 
these  reports,  or  from  its  actual  dreariness,  the  doctor  found  it 
impossible  to  get  a  tenant ;  and  that  the  place  might  not  fall  to 
ruin  before  he  could  reside  in  it  himself,  he  placed  a  country  boor, 
with  his  family,  in  one  wing,  with  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the 
farm  on  shares. 

The  doctor  now  felt  all  the  dignity  of  a  landholder  rising 
within  him.  He  had  a  little  of  the  German  pride  of  territory  in 
his  composition,  and  almost  looked  upon  himself  as  owner  of  a 
principality.  He  began  to  complain  of  the  fatigue  of  business ; 
and  was  fond  of  riding  out  "  to  look  at  his  estate."  His  little 
expeditions  to  his  lands  were  attended  with  a  bustle  and  parade 
that  created  a  sensation  throughout  the  neighborhood.  His  wall 
eyed  horse  stood,  stamping  and  whisking  off  the  flies,  for  a  full 
hour  before  the  house.  Then  the  doctor's  saddle-bags  would  be 
brought  out  and  adjusted ;  then,  after  a  little  while,  his  cloak 
would  be  rolled  up  and  strapped  to  the  saddle  ;  then  his  umbrella 
would  be  buckled  to  the  cloak ;  while,  in  the  mean  time,  a  group 
of  ragged  boys,  that  observant  class  of  beings,  would  gather  be 
fore  the  door.  At  length  the  doctor  would  issue  forth,  in  a  pair 
of  jack-boots  that  reached  above  his  knees,  and  a  cocked  hat  flap 
ped  down  in  front.  As  he  was  a  short,  fat  man,  he  took  some 
time  to  mount  into  the  saddle ;  and  Avhen  there,  he  took  some 
time  to  have  the  saddle  and  stirrups  properly  adjusted,  enjoying 
the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  urchin  crowd.  Even  after  he 
17 


386  BEACEBRIDGE    TTATT.. 

had  set  off,  he  would  pause  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  or  trot 
back  two  or  three  times  to  give  seme  parting  orders ;  which  were 
answered  by  the  housekeeper  from  the  door,  or  Dolph  from  the 
study,  or  the  black  cook  from  the  cellar,  or  the  chambermaid  from 
the  garret  window ;  and  there  were  generally  some  last  words 
bawled  after  him,  just  as  he  was  turning  the  corner. 

The  whole  neighborhood  would  be  aroused  by  this  pomp  and 
circumstance.  The  cobbler  would  leave  his  last ;  the  barber 
would  thrust  out  his  frizzled  head,  with  a  comb  sticking  in  it ;  a 
knot  would  collect  at  the  grocer's  door,  and  the  word  would  be 
buzzed  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other,  "  The  doctor's 
riding  out  to  his  country  seat ! " 

These  were  golden  moments  for  Dolph.  No  sooner  was  the 
doctor  out  of  sight,  than  pestle  and  mortar  were  abandoned ;  the 
laboratory  was  left  to  take  care  of  itself,  and  the  student  was  off 
on  some  mad-cap  frolic. 

Indeed,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  youngster,  as  he  grew  up, 
seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  fulfil  the  prediction  of  the  old  claret- 
colored  gentleman.  He  was  the  ringleader  of  all  holiday  sports, 
and  midnight  gambols ;  ready  for  all  kinds  of  mischievous  pranks, 
and  hair-brained  adventures. 

There  is  nothing  so  troublesome  as  a  hero  on  a  small  scale, 
or,  rather,  a  hero  in  a  small  town.  Dolph  soon  became  the  ab 
horrence  of  all  drowsy,  housekeeping  old  citizens,  who  hated 
noise,  and  had  no  relish  for  waggery.  The  good  dames,  too,  con 
sidered  him  as  little  better  than  a  reprobate,  gathered  their  daugh 
ters  under  their  wings  whenever  he  approached,  and  pointed  him 
out  as  a  warning  to  their  sons.  Xo  one  seemed  to  hold  him  in 
much  regard,  except  the  wild  striplings  of  the  place,  who  were 
captivated  by  his  open-hearted,  daring  manners,  and  the  negroes, 


DOLPH   HETLIGER.  387 

who  always  look  upon  every  idle,  do-nothing  youngster,  as  a  kind 
of  gentleman.  Even  the  good  Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  con 
sidered  himself  a  kind  of  patron  of  the  lad,  began  to  despair  of 
him ;  and  would  shake  his  head  dubiously,  as  he  listened  to  a  long 
complaint  from  the  housekeeper,  and  sipped  a  glass  of  her  rasp 
berry  .brandy.  • 

Still  his  mother  was  not  to  be  wearied  out  of  her  affection  by 
all  the  waywardness  of  her  boy ;  nor  disheartened  by  the  stories 
of  his  misdeeds,  with  which  her  good  friends  were  continually  re 
galing  her.  She  had,  it  is  true,  very  little  of  the  pleasure  which 
rich  people  enjoy,  in  always  hearing  their  children  praised ;  but 
she  considered  all  this  ill-will  as  a  kind  of  persecution  which  he 
suffered,  and  she  liked  him  the  better  on  that  account.  She  saw 
him  growing  up  a  fine,  tall,  good-looking  youngster,  and  she  looked 
at  him  with  the  secret  pride  of  a  mother's  heart.  It  was  her 
great  desire  that  Dolph  should  appear  like  a  gentleman,  and  all 
the  money  she  could  save  Avent  towards  helping  out  his  pocket  and 
his  wardrobe.  She  would  look  out  of  the  window  after  him,  as 
he  sallied  forth  in  his  best  array,  and  her  heart  would  yearn  with 
delight ;  and  once,  when  Peter  de  Groodt,  struck  with  the  young 
ster's  gallant  appearance  on  a  bright  Sunday  morning,  observed, 
"  Well,  after  all,  Dolph  does  grow  a  comely  fellow !  "  the  tear  of 
pride  started  into  the  mother's  eye ;  "  Ah,  neighbor !  neighbor !  " 
exclaimed  she,  "  they  may  say  what  they  please  ;  poor  Dolph  will 
yet  hold  up  his  head  with  the  best  of  them !  " 

Dolph  Heyliger  had  now  nearly  attained  his  one-and-twentieth 
year,  and  the  term  of  his  medical  studies  was  just  expiring ;  yet 
it  must  be  confessed,  that  he  knew  little  more  of  the  profession 
than  when  he  first  entered  the  doctor's  doors.  This,  however, 
could  not  be  from  any  want  of  quickness  of  parts,  for  he  showed 


388  BRACEBELDGE   HALL. 

amazing  aptness  in  mastering  other  branches  of  knowledge,  which 
he  could  only  have  studied  at  intervals.  He  was,  for  instance,  a 
sure  marksman,  and  won  all  the  geese  and  turkeys  at  Christmas- 
holidays.  He  was  a  bold  rider ;  he  was  famous  for  leaping  and 
wrestling ;  he  played  tolerably  on  the  fiddle ;  could  swim  like  a 
fish ;  and  was  the  best  hand  in  the  whole  place  at  fives  or 
ninepins. 

All  these  accomplishments,  however,  procured  him  no  favor 
in  the  eyes  of  the  doctor,  who  grew  more  and  more  crabbed  and 
intolerant  the  nearer  the  term  of  apprenticeship  approached. 
Frau  Ilsy,  too,  was  for  ever  finding  some  occasion  to  raise 
a  windy  tempest  about  his  ears ;  and  seldom  encountered  him 
about  the  house,  without  a  clatter  of  the  tongue ;  so  that  at 
length  the  jingling  of  her  keys  as  she  approached,  was  to  Dolph 
like  the  ringing  of  the  prompter's  bell,  that  gives  notice  of  a  the 
atrical  thunder-storm.  Nothing  but  the  infinite  good-humor  of 
the  heedless  youngster  enabled  him  to  bear  all  this  domestic 
tyranny  without  open  rebellion.  It  was  evident  that  the  doctor 
and  his  housekeeper  were  preparing  to  beat  the  poor  youth  out 
of  the  nest,  the  moment  his  term  should  have  expired ;  a  short 
hand  mode  which  the  doctor  had  of  providing  for  useless  dis 
ciples. 

Indeed  the  little  man  had  been  rendered  more  than  usually 
irritable  lately,  in  consequence  of  various  cares  and  vexatious 
which  his  country  estate  had  brought  upon  him.  The  doctor  had 
been  repeatedly  annoyed  by  the  rumors  and  tales  which  prevailed 
concerning  the  old  mansion  ;  and  found  it  difficult  to  prevail  even 
upon  the  countryman  and  his  family  to  remain  there  rent-free. 
Every  time  he  rode  out  to  the  farm  he  was  teased  by  some  fresh 
complaint  of  strange  noises  and  fearful  sights,  with  which  the 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEK.  389 

tenants  were  disturbed  at  night;  and  the  doctor  would  come 
home  fretting  and  fuming,  and  vent  his  spleen  upon  the  whole 
household.  It  was  indeed  a  sore  grievance  that  affected  him 
both  in  pride  and  purse.  He  was  threatened  with  an  absolute 
loss  of  the  profits  of  his  property ;  and  then,  what  a  blow  to  his 
territorial  consequence,  to  be  the  landlord  of  a  haunted  house ! 

It  was  observed,  however,  that  with  all  his  vexation,  the 
doctor  never  proposed  to  sleep  in  the  house  himself;  nay,  he 
could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to  remain  on  the  premises  after 
dark,  but  made  the  best  of  his  way  for  town  as  soon  as  the  bats 
began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight.  The  fact  was,  the  doctor  had 
a  secret  belief  in  ghosts,  having  passed  the  early  part  of  his  life 
in  a  country  where  they  particularly  abound;  and  indeed  the 
story  went,  that,  when  a  boy,  he  had  once  seen  the  devil  upon 
the  Hartz  mountains  in  Germany. 

At  length  the  doctor's  vexations  on  this  head  were  brought  to 
a  crisis.  One  morning  as  he  sat  dozing  over  a  volume  in  his 
study,  he  was  suddenly  startled  from  his  slumbers  by  the  bustling 
in  of  the  housekeeper. 

"  Here's  a  fine  to  do ! "  cried  she,  as  she  entered  the  room. 
"  Here's  Glaus  Hopper  come  in,  bag  and  baggage,  from  the  farm, 
and  swears  he'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  it.  The  whole 
family  have  been  frightened  out  of  their  wits ;  for  there's  such 
racketing  and  rummaging  about  the  old  house,  that  they  can't 
sleep  quiet  in  their  beds ! " 

"  Donner  and  blitzen  ! "  cried  the  doctor,  impatiently ;  "  will 
they  never  have  done  chattering  about  that  house  ?  What  a  pack 
of  fools,  to  let  a  few  rats  and  mice  frighten  them  out  of  good 
quarters !  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  housekeeper,  wagging  her  head  know- 


390  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

ingly,  and  piqued  at  having  a  good  ghost-story  doubted,  "  there's 
more  in  it  than  rats  and  mice.  All  the  neighborhood  talks  about 
the  house ;  and  then  such  sights  as  have  been  seen  in  it !  Peter 
de  Groodt  tells  me,  that  the  family  that  sold  you  the  house,  and 
went  to  Holland,  dropped  several  strange  hints  about  it,  and  said, 
'  they  wished  you  joy  of  your  bargain  ; '  and  you  know  yourself 
there's  no  getting  any  family  to  live  in  it." 

"  Peter  de  Groodt's  a  ninny — an  old  woman,"  said  the  doc 
tor,  peevishly;  "I'll  warrant  he's  been  filling  these  people's 
heads  full  of  stories.  It's  just  like  his  nonsense  about  the  ghost 
that  haunted  the  church  belfry,  as  an  excuse  for  not  ringing  the 
bell  that  cold  night  when  Harmanus  BrinkerhofTs  house  was  on 
fire.  Send  Glaus  to  me." 

Glaus  Hopper  now  made  his  appearance :  a  simple  country 
lout,  full  of  awe  at  finding  himself  in  the  very  study  of  Dr.  Knip- 
perhausen,  and  too  much  embarrassed  to  enter  in  much  detail  of 
the  matters  that  had  caused  his  alarm.  He  stood  twirling  his 
hat  in  one  hand,  resting"  sometimes  on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the 
other,  looking  occasionally  at  the  doctor,  and  now  and  then  steal 
ing  a  fearful  glance  at  the  death's  head  that  seemed  ogling  him 
from  the  top  of  the  clothes-press. 

The  doctor  tried  every  means  to  persuade  him  to  return  to 
the  farm,  but  all  in  vain ;  he  maintained  a  dogged  determination 
on  the  subject ;  and  at  the  close  of  every  argument  or  solicitation 
would  make  the  same  brief,  inflexible  reply,  "  Ich  kan  nicht,  myn 
heer."  The  doctor  was  a  "  little  pot,  and  soon  hot ; "  his  patience 
was  exhausted  by  these  continual  vexations  about  his  estate. 
The  stubborn  refusal  of  Glaus  Hopper  seemed  to  him  like  flat 
rebellion ;  his  temper  suddenly  boiled  over,  and  Glaus  was  glad 
to  make  a  rapid  retreat  to  escape  scalding. 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEK.  391 

When  the  bumpkin  got  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  he  found 
Peter  de  Groodt,  and  several  other  true  believers,  ready  to  re 
ceive  him.  Here  he  indemnified  himself  for  the  restraint  he  had 
suffered  in  the  study,  and  opened  a  budget  of  stories  about  the 
haunted  house  that  astonished  all  his  hearers.  The  housekeeper 
believed  them  all,  if  it  was  only  to  spite  the  doctor  for  having 
received  her  intelligence  so  uncourteously.  Peter  de  Groodt 
matched  them  with  many  a  wonderful  legend  of  the  times  of  the 
Dutch  dynasty,  and  of  the  Devil's  Stepping-stones ;  and  of  the 
pirate  hanged  at  Gibbet  Island,  that  continued  to  swing  there  at 
night  long  after  the  gallows  Avas  taken  down ;  and  of  the  ghost 
of  the  unfortunate  Governor  Leisler,  hanged  for  treason,  which 
haunted  the  old  fort  and  the  government-house.  The  gossiping 
knot  dispersed,  each  charged  with  direful  intelligence.  The 
sexton  disburdened  himself  at  a  vestry  meeting  that  \vas  held 
that  very  day,  and  the  black  cook  forsook  her  kitchen,  and  spent 
half  the  day  at  the  street  pump,  that  gossiping-place  of  servants, 
dealing  forth  the  news  to  all  that  came  for  water.  In  a  little 
time  the  whole  town  was  in  a  buzz  with  tales  about  the  haunted 
house.  Some  said  that  Glaus  Hopper  had  seen  the  devil,  while 
others  hinted  that  the  house  was  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  some 
of  the  patients  whom  the  doctor  had  physicked  out  of  the  world, 
and  that  was  the  reason  why  he  did  not  venture  to  live  in  it 
himself. 

All  this  put  the  little  doctor  in  a  terrible  fume.  He  threat 
ened  vengeance  on  any  one  who  should  affect  the  value  of  his 
property  by  exciting  popular  prejudices.  He  complained  loudly 
of  thus  being  in  a  manner  dispossessed  of  his  territories  by  mere 
bugbears  ;  but  he  secretly  determined  to  have  the  house  exorcised 
by  the  Dominie.  Great  was  his  relief,  therefore,  when  in  the 


392  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

midst  of  his  perplexities,  Dolph  stepped  forward  and  undertook  to 
garrison  the  haunted  house.  The  youngster  had  been  listening  to 
all  the  stories  of  Glaus  Hopper  and  Peter  de  Groodt:  he  was 
fond  of  adventure,  he  loved  the  marvellous,  and  his  imagination 
had  become  quite  excited  by  these  tales  of  wonder.  Besides,  he 
had  led  such  an  uncomfortable  life  at  the  doctor's,  being  subjected 
to  the  intolerable  thraldom  of  early  hours,  that  he  was  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  having  a  house  to  himself,  even  though  it 
should  be  a  haunted  one.  His  offer  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  it 
was  determined  he  should  mount  guard  that  very  night.  His 
only  stipulation  was,  that  the  enterprise  should  be  kept  secret 
from  his  mother ;  for  he  knew  the  poor  soul  would  not  sleep  a  wink 
if  she  knew  her  son  was  waging  war  with  the  powers  of  darkness. 
When  night  came  on  he  set  out  on  this  perilous  expedition. 
The  old  black  cook,  his  only  friend  in  the  household,  had  provided 
him  with  a  little  mess  for  supper,  and  a  rush-light ;  and  she  tied 
round  his  neck  an  amulet,  given  her  by  an  African  conjurer,  as  a 
charm  against  evil  spirits.  Dolph  was  escorted  on  his  way  by  the 
doctor  and  Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  agreed  to  accompany  him 
to  the  house,  and  to  see  him  safe  lodged.  The  night  was  over 
cast,  and  it  was  very  dark  when  they  arrived  at  the  grounds 
which  surrounded  the  mansion.  The  sexton  led  the  way  with  a 
lantern.  As  they  walked  along  the  avenue  of  acacias,  the  fitful 
light,  catching  from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree  to  tree,  often  startled 
the  doughty  Peter,  and  made  him  fall  back  upon  his  followers ; 
rand  the  doctor  grappled  still  closer  hold  of  Dolph's  arm,  observing 
that  the  ground  was  very  slippery  and  uneven.  At  one  time  they 
were  nearly  put  to  total  rout  by  a  bat,  which  came  flitting  about  the 
lantern  ;  and  the  notes  of  the  insects  from  the  trees,  and  the  frogs 
from  a  neighboring  pond,  formed  a  most  drowsy  and  doleful  concert. 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  393 

The  front  door  of  the  mansion  opened  with  a  grating  sound, 
that  made  the  doctor  turn  pale.  They  entered  a  tolerably  large 
hall,  such  as  is  common  in  American  country-houses,  and  which 
serves  for  a  sitting-room  in  warm  weather.  From  this  they  went 
up  a  wide  staircase,  that  groaned  and  creaked  as  they  trod,  every 
step  making  its  particular  note,  like  the  key  of  a  harpsichord. 
This  led  to  another  hall  on  the  second  story,  whence  they  entered 
the  room  where  Dolph  was  to  sleep.  It  was  large,  and  scantily 
furnished ;  the  shutters  were  closed ;  but  as  they  were  much 
broken,  there  was  no  want  of  a  circulation  of  air.  It  appeared 
to  have  been  that  sacred  chamber,  known  among  Dutch  house 
wives  by  the  name  of  "  the  best  bed-room ;  "  which  is  the  best 
furnished  room  in  the  house,  but  in  which  scarce  any  body  is 
ever  permitted  to  sleep.  Its  splendor,  however,  was  all  at  an  end. 
There  were  a  few  broken  articles  of  furniture  about  the  room, 
and  in  the  centre  stood  a  heavy  deal-table  and  a  large  arm-chair, 
both  of  which  had  the  look  of  being  coeval  with  the  mansion. 
The  fireplace  was  wide,  and  had  been  faced  with  Dutch  tiles,  rep 
resenting  Scripture  stories ;  but  some  of  them  had  fallen  out  of 
their  places,  and  lay  scattered  about  the  hearth.  The  sexton  lit 
the  rush-light ;  and  the  doctor,  looking  fearfully  about  the  room, 
was  just  exhorting  Dolph  to  be  of  good  cheer,  and  to  pluck  up  a 
stout  heart,  when  a  noise  in  the  chimney,  like  voices  and  strug 
gling,  struck  a  sudden  panic  into  the  sexton.  He  took  to  his 
heels  with  the  lantern ;  the  doctor  followed  hard  after  him ;  the 
stairs  groaned  and  creaked  as  they  hurried  down,  increasing  their 
agitation  and  speed  by  its  noises.  The  front  door  slammed  after 
them  ;  and  Dolph  heard  them  scrabbling  down  the  avenue,  till  the 
sound  of  their  feet  was  lost  in  the  distance.  That  he  did  not  join 
in  this  precipitate  retreat  might  have  been  owing  to  his  possess- 
17* 


394  BEACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

ing  a  little  more  courage  than  his  companions,  or  perhaps  that  he 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  cause  of  their  dismay,  in  a  nest  of 
chimney  swallows,  that  came  tumbling  down  into  the  fireplace. 

Being  now  left  to  himself,  he  secured  the  front  door  by  a 
strong  bolt  and  bar ;  and  having  seen  that  the  other  entrances 
were  fastened,  returned  to  his  desolate  chamber.  Having  made 
his  supper  from  the  basket  which  the  good  old  cook  had  provided, 
he  locked  the  chamber  door,  and  retired  to  rest  on  a  mattress  in 
one  corner.  The  night  was  calm  and  still ;  and  nothing  broke 
upon  the  profound  quiet,  but  the  lonely  chirping  of  a  cricket  from 
the  chimney  of  a  distant  chamber.  The  rush -light,  which  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  deal-table,  shed  a  feeble  yellow  ray,  dimly  illu 
mining  the  chamber,  and  making  uncouth  shapes  and  shadows 
on  the  Avails,  from  the  clothes  which  Dolph  had  thrown  over  a 
chair. 

With  all  his  boldness  of  heart,  there  was  something  subduing 
in  this  desolate  scene ;  and  he  felt  his  spirits  flag  within  him,  as 
ne  lay  on  his  hard  bed  and  gazed  about  the  room.  He  was  turn 
ing  over  in  his  mind  his  idle  habits,  his  doubtful  prospects,  and 
now  and  then  heaving  a  heavy  sigh,  as  he  thought  on  his  poor  old 
mother ;  for  there  is  nothing  like  the  silence  and  loneliness  of 
night  to  bring  dark  shadows  over  the  brightest  mind.  By-and-by 
he  thought  he  heard  a  sound  as  of  some  one  walking  below  stairs. 
He  listened,  and  distinctly  heard  a  step  on  the  great  staircase.  It 
approached  solemnly  and  slowly,  tramp — tramp — tramp !  It  was 
evidently  the  tread  of  some  heavy  personage ;  and  yet  how  could 
he  have  got  into  the  house  without  making  a  noise  ?  He  had  ex 
amined  all  the  fastenings,  and  was  certain  that  every  entrance 
was  secure.  Still  the  steps  advanced,  tramp — tramp — tramp! 
It  was  evident  that  the  person  approaching  could  not  be  a  robber, 


TiKVI   VUHK.  CtPftTTMAM 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  395 

the  step  was  too  loud  and  deliberate ;  a  robber  would  either  be 
stealthy  or  precipitate.  And  now  the  footsteps  had  ascended  the 
staircase  ;  they  Avere  slowly  advancing  along  the  passage,  resound 
ing  through  the  silent  and  empty  apartments.  The  very  cricket 
had  ceased  its  melancholy  note,  and  nothing  interrupted  their 
awful  distinctness.  The  door,  which  had  been  locked  on  the 
inside,  slowly  swung  open,  as  if  self-moved.  The  footsteps  en 
tered  the  room ;  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  They  passed  slowly 
and  audibly  across  it,  tramp — tramp — tramp !  but  whatever  made 
the  sound  was  invisible.  Dolph  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  stared 
about  him  ;  he  could  see  to  every  part  of  the  dimly-lighted  cham 
ber;  all  was  vacant";  yet  still  he  heard  those  mysterious  footsteps, 
solemnly  walking  about  the  chamber.  They  ceased,  and  all  was 
dead  silence.  There  was  something  more  appalling  in  this  invisi 
ble  visitation,  than  there  would  have  been  in  any  thing  that 
addressed  itself  to  the  eyesight.  It  was  awfully  vague  and  indefi 
nite.  He  felt  his  heart  beat  against  his  ribs ;  a  cold  sweat  broke 
out  upon  his  forehead  ;  he  lay  for  some  time  in  a  state  of  violent 
agitation  ;  nothing,  however,  occurred  to  increase  his  alarm.  His 
light  gradually  burnt  down  into  the  socket,  and  he  fell  asleep. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight ;  the  sun  was  peering  through 
the  cracks  of  the  window-shutters,  and  the  birds  Avere  merrily 
singing  about  the  house.  The  bright  cheery  day  soon  put  to  flight 
all  the  terrors  of  the  preceding  night.  Dolph  laughed,  or  rather 
tried  to  laugh,  at  all  that  had  passed,  and  endeavored  to  persuade 
himself  that  it  Avas  a  mere  freak  of  the  imagination,  conjured  up 
by  the  stories  he  had  heard ;  but  he  Avas  a  little  puzzled  to  find 
the  door  of  his  room  locked  on  the  inside,  notAvithstanding  that  he 
had  positively  seen  it  swing  open  as  the  footsteps  had  entered. 
He  returned  to  toAvn  in  a  state  of  considerable  perplexity ;  but  he 


396  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

determined  to  say  nothing  on  the  subject,  until  his  doubts  were 
either  confirmed  or  removed  by  another  night's  watching.  His 
silence  was  a  grievous  disappointment  to  the  gossips  who  had 
gathered  at  the  doctor's  mansion.  They  had  prepared  their  minds 
to  hear  direful  tales,  and  were  almost  in  a  rage  at  being  assured 
he  had  nothing  to  relate. 

The  next  night,  then,  Dolph  repeated  his  vigil.  He  now 
entered  the  house  with  some  trepidation.  He  was  particular  in 
examining  the  fastenings  of  all  the  doors,  and  securing  them  well. 
He  locked  the  door  of  his  chamber,  and  placed  a  chair  against  it ; 
then  having  dispatched  his  supper,  he  threw  himself  on  his  mat 
tress  and  endeavored  to  sleep.  It  was  all  in  vain ;  a  thousand 
crowding  fancies  kept  him  waking.  The  time  slowly  dragged  on, 
as  if  minutes  were  spinning  themselves  out  into  hours.  As  the 
night  advanced,  he  grew  more  and  more  nervous ;  and  he  almost 
started  from  his  couch  when  he  heard  the  mysterious  footstep 
again  on  the  staircase.  Up  it  came,  as  before,  solemnly  and 
slowly,  tramp — tramp — tramp  !  It  approached  along  the  pas 
sage  ;  the  door  again  swung  open,  as  if  there  had  been  neither 
lock  nor  impediment,  and  a  strange  looking  figure  stalked  into 
the  room.  It  was  an  elderly  man,  large  and  robust,  clothed  in 
the  old  Flemish  fashion.  He  had  on  a  kind  of  short  cloak,  with 
a  garment  under  it,  belted  round  the  waist ;  trunk  hose,  with 
great  bunches  or  bows  at  the  knees ;  and  a  pair  of  russet  boots, 
very  large  at  top,  and  standing  widely  from  his  legs.  His  hat 
was  broad  and  slouched,  with  a  feather  trailing  over  one  side. 
His  iron-gray  hair  hung  in  thick  masses  on  his  neck  ;  and  he  had 
a  short  grizzled  beard.  He  walked  slowly  round  the  room,  as  if 
examining  that  all  was  safe ;  then,  hanging  his  hat  on  a  peg 
beside  the  door,  he  sat  down  in  the  elbow-chair,  and,  leaning  his 


BOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  397 

elbow  on  the  table,  fixed  his  eyes  on  Dolph  with  an  unmoving 
and  deadening  stare. 

Dolph  was  not  naturally  a  coward ;  but  he  had  been  brought 
up  in  an  implicit  belief  in  ghosts  and  goblins.  A  thousand  stories 
came  swarming  to  his  mind  that  he  had  heard  about  this  building ; 
and  as  he  looked  at  this  strange  personage,  with  his  uncouth  garb, 
his  pale  visage,  his  grizzly  beard,  and  his  fixed,  staring,  fish-like 
eye,  his  teeth  began  to  chatter,  his  hair  to  rise  on  his  head,  and  a 
cold  sweat  to  break  out  all  over  his  body.  How  long  he  remained 
in  this  situation  he  could  not  tell,  for  he  was  like  one  fascinated. 
He  could  not  take  his  gaze  off  from  the  spectre ;  but  lay  staring 
at  him,  with  his  whole  intellect  absorbed  in  the  contemplation. 
The  old  man  remained  seated  behind  the  table,  without  stirring, 
or  turning  an  eye,  always  keeping  a  dead  steady  glare  upon 
Dolph.  At  length  the  household  cock,  from  a  neighboring  farm, 
clapped  his  wings,  and  gave  a  loud  cheerful  crow  that  rung  over 
the  fields.  At  the  sound  the  old  man  slowly  rose,  and  took  down 
his  hat  from  the  peg ;  the  door  opened,  and  closed  after  him ; 
he  was  heard  to  go  slowly  down  the  staircase,  tramp — tramp — 
tramp  ! — and  when  he  had  got  to  the  bottom,  all  was  again  silent. 
Dolph  lay  and  listened  earnestly ;  counted  every  footfall ;  listened, 
and  listened,  if  the  steps  should  return,  until,  exhausted  by  watch 
ing  and  agitation,  he  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep. 

Daylight  again  brought  fresh  courage  and  assurance.  He 
would  fain  have  considered  all  that  had  passed  as  a  mere  dream ; 
yet  there  stood  the  chair  in  which  the  unknown  had  seated  him 
self  ;  there  was  the  table  on  which  he  had  leaned ;  there  was  the 
peg  on  which  he  had  hung  his  hat ;  and  there  was  the  door, 
locked  precisely  as  he  himself  had  locked  it,  with  the  chair  placed 
against  it.  He  hastened  down  stairs,  and  examined  the  doors 


398  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

and  windows ;  all  were  exactly  in  the  same  state  in  which  he  had 
left  them,  and  there  was  no  apparent  way  by  which  any  being 
could  have  entered  and  left  the  house,  without  leaving  some  trace 
behind.  "  Pooh !  "  said  Dolph  to  himself,  "  it  was  all  a  dream :  " — 
but  it  would  not  do ;  the  more  he  endeavored  to  shake  the  scene 
off  from  his  mind,  the  more  it  haunted  him. 

Though  he  persisted  in  a  strict  silence  as  to  all  that  he  had 
seen  or  heard,  yet  his  looks  betrayed  the  uncomfortable  night  that 
he  had  passed.  It  was  evident  that  there  was  something  wonder 
ful  hidden  under  this  mysterious  reserve.  The  doctor  took  him 
into  the  study,  locked  the  door,  and  sought  to  have  a  full  and 
confidential  communication  ;  but  he  could  get  nothing  out  of  him. 
Frau  Ilsy  took  him  aside  into  the  pantry,  but  to  as  little  purpose ; 
and  Peter  de  Groodt  held  him  by  the  button  for  a  full  hour,  in 
the  church-yard,  the  very  place  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  a  ghost 
story,  but  came  off  not  a  whit  wiser  than  the  rest.  It  is  always 
the  case,  however,  that  one  truth  concealed  makes  a  dozen  cur 
rent  lies.  It  is  like  a  guinea  locked  up  in  a  bank,  that  has  a 
dozen  paper  representatives.  Before  the  day  was  over,  the 
neighborhood  was  full  of  reports.  Some  said  that  Dolph  Heyli- 
ger  watched  in  the  haunted  house,  with  pistols  loaded  with  silver 
bullets ;  others,  that  he  had  a  long  talk  with  a  spectre  without  a 
head ;  others,  that  Doctor  Knipperhausen  and  the  sexton  had  been 
hunted  down  the  Bowery  lane,  and  quite  into  town,  by  a  legion  of 
ghosts  of  their  customers.  Some  shook  their  heads ;  and  thought 
it  a  shame  the  doctor  should  put  Dolph  to  pass  the  night  alone  in 
that  dismal  house,  where  he  might  be  spirited  away,  no  one  knew 
whither ;  while  others  observed,  with  a  shrug,  that  if  the  devil 
did  carry  off  the  youngster,  it  would  be  but  taking  his  own. 

These  rumors  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  the  good  Dame 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  399 

Heyliger,  and,  as  may  be  supposed,  threw  her  into  a  terrible 
alarm.  For  her  son  to  have  opposed  himself  to  danger  from 
living  foes,  would  have  been  nothing  so  dreadful  in  her  eyes,  as  to 
dare  alone  the  terrors  of  the  haunted  house.  She  hastened  to 
the  doctor's,  and  passed  a  great  part  of  the  day  in  attempting  to 
dissuade  Dolph  from  repeating  his  vigil ;  she  told  him  a  score  of 
tales,  which  her  gossiping  friends  had  just  related-  to  her,  of  per 
sons  who  had  been  carried  off,  when  watching  alone  in  old  ruinous 
houses.  It  was  all  to  no  effect.  Dolph's  pride,  as  well  as  curi 
osity,  was  piqued.  He  endeavored  to  calm  the  apprehensions  of 
his  mother,  and  to  assure  her  that  there  was  no  truth  in  all  the 
rumors  she  had  heard ;  she  looked  at  him  dubiously  and  shook 
her  head  ;  but  finding  his  determination  was  not  to  be  shaken,  she 
brought  him  a  little  thick  Dutch  Bible,  with  brass  clasps,  to  take 
with  him,  as  a  sword  wherewith  to  fight  the  powers  of  darkness ; 
and,  lest  that  might  not  be  sufficient,  the  housekeeper  gave  him 
the  Heidelberg  catechism  by  way  of  dagger. 

The  next  night,  therefore,  Dolph  took  up  his  quarters  for  the 
third  time  in  the  old  mansion.  Whether  dream  or  not,  the  same 
thing  was  repeated.  Towards  midnight,  when  every  thing  was 
still,  the  same  sound  echoed  through  the  empty  halls — tramp — 
tramp — tramp  !  The  stairs  were  again  ascended  ;  the  door  again 
swung  open ;  the  old  man  entered ;  walked  round  the  room ; 
hung  up  his  hat,  and  seated  himself  by  the  table.  The  same  fear 
and  trembling  came  over  poor  Dolph,  though  not  in  so  violent  a 
degree.  He  lay  in  the  same  way,  motionless  and  fascinated,  star 
ing  at  the  figure,  which  regarded  him  as  before  with  a  dead,  fixed, 
chilling  gaze.  In  this  way  they  remained  for  a  long  time,  till,  by 
degrees,  Dolph's  courage  began  gradually  to  revive.  Whether 
alive  or  dead,  this  being  had  certainly  some  object  in  his  visita- 


400  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

tion ;  and  he  recollected  to  have  heard  it  said,  spirits  have  no 
power  to  speak  until  spoken  to.  Summoning  up  resolution,  there 
fore,  and  making  two  or  three  attempts,  before  he  could  get  his 
parched  tongue  in  motion,  he  addressed  the  unknown  in  the  most 
solemn  form  of  adjuration,  and  demanded  to  know  what  was  the 
motive  of  his  visit. 

No  sooner  had  he  finished,  than  the  old  man  rose,  took  down 
his  hat,  the  door  opened,  and  he  went  out,  looking  back  upon 
Dolph  just  as  he  crossed  the  threshold,  as  if  expecting  him  to 
follow.  The  youngster  did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  He  took  the 
candle  in  his  hand,  and  the  Bible  under  his  arm,  and  obeyed  the 
tacit  invitation.  The  candle  emitted  a  feeble,  uncertain  ray ; 
but  still  he  could  see  the  figure  before  him,  slowly  descend  the 
stairs.  He  followed  trembling.  When  it  had  reached  the  bot 
tom  of  the  stairs,  it  turned  through  the  hall  towards  the  back 
door  of  the  mansion.  Dolph  held  the  light  over  the  balustrades ; 
but,  in  his  eagerness  to  catch  a  sight  of  the  unknown,  he  flared 
his  feeble  taper  so  suddenly,  that  it  went  out.  Still  there  was 
sufficient  light  from  the  pale  moonbeams,  that  fell  through  a  nar 
row  window,  to  give  him  an  indistinct  view  of  the  figure,  near  the 
door.  He  followed,  therefore,  down  stairs,  and  turned  towards 
the  place ;  but  when  he  arrived  there,  the  unknown  had  disap 
peared.  The  door  remained  fast  barred  and  bolted ;  there  was 
no  other  mode  of  exit ;  yet  the  being,  whatever  he  might  be,  was 
gone.  He  unfastened  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  fields.  It 
was  a  hazy,  moonlight  night,  so  that  the  eye  could  distinguish  ob 
jects  at  some  distance.  He  thought  he  saw  the  unknown  in  a 
footpath  which  led  from  the  door.  He  was  not  mistaken ;  but 
how  had  he  got  out  of  the  house  ?  He  did  not  pause  to  think,  but 
followed  on.  The  old  man  proceeded  at  a  measured  pace,  with- 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEK.  401 

out  looking  about  him,  his  footsteps  sounding  on  the  hard  ground. 
He  passed  through  the  orchard  of  apple-trees,  always  keeping  the 
footpath.  It  led  to  a  well,  situated  in  a  little  hollow,  which  had 
supplied  the  farm  with  water.  Just  at  this  well  Dolph  lost  sight 
of  him.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  looked  again ;  but  nothing  was 
to  be  seen  of  the  unknown.  He  reached  the  well,  but -nobody 
was  there.  All  the  surrounding  ground  was  open  and  clear ;  there 
was  no  bush  nor  hiding-place.  He  looked  down  the  well,  and  saw, 
at  a  great  depth,  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  the  still  water.  After 
remaining  here  for  some  time,  without  seeing  or  hearing  any  thing 
more  of  his  mysterious  conductor,  he  returned  to  the  house,  full  of 
awe  and  wonder.  He  bolted  the  door,  groped  his  way  back  to 
bed,  and  it  was  long  before  he  could  compose  himself  to  sleep. 

His  dreams  were  strange  and  troubled.  He  thought  he  was 
following  the  old  man  along  the  side  of  a  great  river,  until  they 
came  to  a  vessel  on  the  point  of  sailing ;  and  that  his  conductor 
led  him  on  board  and  vanished.  He  remembered  the  commander 
of  the  vessel,  a  short  swarthy  man,  with  crisped  black  hair,  blind 
of  one  eye,  and  lame  of  one  leg ;  but  the  rest  of  his  dream  was 
very  confused.  Sometimes  he  was  sailing ;  sometimes  on  shore  ; 
now  amidst  storms  and  tempests,  and  now  wandering  quietly  in 
unknown  streets.  The  figure  of  the  old  man  was  strangely  min 
gled  up  with  the  incidents  of  the  dream,  and  the  whole  distinctly 
wound  up  by  his  finding  himself  on  board  of  the  vessel  again, 
returning  home,  with  a  great  bag  of  money  ! 

When  he  woke,  the  gray,  cool  light  of  dawn  was  streaking 
the  horizon,  and  the  cocks  passing  the  reveille  from  farm  to  farm 
throughout  the  country.  He  rose  more  harassed  and  perplexed 
than  ever.  He  was  singularly  confounded  by  all  that  he  had 
seen  and  dreamt,  and  began  to  doubt  whether  his  mind  was  not 


402  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

affected,  and  whether  all  that  was  passing  in  his  thoughts  might 
not  be  mere  feverish  fantasy.  In  his  present  state  of  mind,  he 
did  not  feel  disposed  to  return  immediately  to  the  doctor's,  and 
undergo  the  cross-questioning  of  the  household.  He  made  a 
scanty  breakfast,  therefore,  on  the  remains  of  the  last  night's  pro 
visions,  and  then  wandered  out  into  the  fields  to  meditate  on  all 
that  had  befallen  him.  Lost  in  thought,  he  rambled  about, 
gradually  approaching  the  town,  until  the  morning  was  far 
advanced,  when  he  was  roused  by  a  hurry  and  bustle  around  him. 
He  found  himself  near  the  water's  edge,  in  a  throng  of  people, 
hurrying  to  a  pier,  where  was  a  vessel  ready  to  make  sail.  He 
was  unconsciously  carried  along  by  the  impulse  of  the  crowd,  and 
found  that  it  was  a  sloop,  on  the  point  of  sailing  up  the  Hudson 
to  Albany.  There  was  much  leave-taking,  and  kissing  of  old 
women  and  children,  and  great  activity  in  carrying  on  board 
baskets  of  bread  and  cakes,  and  provisions  of  all  kinds,  notwith 
standing  the  mighty  joints  of  meat  that  dangled  over  the  stern ; 
for  a  voyage  to  Albany  was  an  expedition  of  great  moment  in 
those  days.  The  commander  of  the  sloop  was  hurrying  about, 
and  giving  a  world  of  orders,  which  were  not  very  strictly 
attended  to;  one  man  being  busy  in  lighting  his  pipe,  and 
another  in  sharpening  his  snicker-snee. 

The  appearance  of  the  commander  suddenly  caught  Dolph's 
attention.  He  was  short  and  swarthy,  with  crisped  black  hair ; 
blind  of  one  eye  and  lame  of  one  leg — the  very  commander  that 
he  had  seen  in  his  dream  !  Surprised  and  aroused,  he  considered 
the  scene  more  attentively,  and  recalled  still  further  traces  of  his 
dream :  the  appearance  of  the  vessel,  of  the  river,  and  of  a 
variety  of  other  objects,  accorded  with  the  imperfect  images 
vaguely  rising  to  recollection. 


DOLPH    HEYLIGER.  403 

As  he  stood  musing  on  these  circumstances,  the  captain  sud 
denly  called  out  to  him  in  Dutch,  "  Step  on  board  young  man,  or 
you'll  be  left  behind ! "  He  was  startled  by  the  summons ;  he 
saw  that  the  sloop  was  cast  loose,  and  was  actually  moving  from 
the  pier;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  actuated  by  some  irresistible 
impulse ;  he  sprang  upon  the  deck,  and  the  next  moment  the 
sloop  was  hurried  off  by  the  wind  and  tide.  Dolph's  thoughts 
and  feelings  were  all  in  tumult  and  confusion.  He  had  been 
strongly  worked  upon  by  the  events  which  had  recently  befallen 
him,  and  could  not  but  think  there  was  some  connection  between 
his  present  situation  and  his  last  night's  dream.  He  felt  as  if 
under  supernatural  influence  ;  and  tried  to  assure  himself  with  an 
old  and  favorite  maxim  of  his,  that  "  one  way  or  other,  all  would 
turn  out  for  the  best."  For  a  moment,  the  indignation  of  the 
doctor  at  his  departure,  without  leave,  passed  across  his  mind, 
but  that  was  matter  of  little  moment ;  then  he  thought  of  the 
distress  of  his  mother  at  his  strange  disappearance,  and  the  idea 
gave  him  a  sudden  pang ;  he  would  have  entreated  to  be  put  on 
shore ;  but  he  knew  with  such  wind  and  tide  the  entreaty  would 
have  been  in  vain.  Then  the  inspiring  love  of  novelty  and 
adventure  came  rushing  in  full  tide  through  his  bosom ;  he  felt 
himself  launched  strangely  and  suddenly  on  the  world,  and  under 
full  way  to  explore  the  regions  of  wonder  that  lay  up  this  mighty 
river,  and  beyond  those  blue  mountains  which  had  bounded  his  ho 
rizon  since  childhood.  While  he  was  lost  in  this  whirl  of  thought, 
the  sails  strained  to  the  breeze ;  the  shores  seemed  to  hurry  away  be 
hind  him  ;  and  before  he  perfectly  recovered  his  self-possession,  the 
sloop  was  ploughing  her  way  past  Spiking-devil  and  Yonkers,  and 
the  tallest  chimney  of  the  Manhattoes  had  faded  from  his  sight. 

I  have  said  that  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  those  days  was 


404  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

an  undertaking  of  some  moment ;  indeed,  it  was  as  much  thought 
of  as  a  voyage  to  Europe  is  at  present.  The  sloops  were  often 
many  days  on  the  way ;  the  cautious  navigators  taking  in  sail 
when  it  blew  fresh,  and  coming  to  anchor  at  night ;  and  stopping 
to  send  the  boat  ashore  for  milk  for  tea ;  without  which  it  was 
impossible  for  the  worthy  old  lady  passengers  to  subsist.  And 
there  were  the  much-talked-of  perils  of  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the 
highlands.  In  short,  a  prudent  Dutch  burgher  would  talk  of 
such  a  voyage  for  months,  and  even  years,  beforehand ;  and  never 
undertook  it  without  putting  his  aifairs  in  order,  making  his 
will,  and  having  prayers  said  for  him  in  the  Low  Dutch  churches. 

In  the  course  of  such  a  voyage,  therefore,  Dolph  was  satisfied 
he  would  have  time  enough  to  reflect,  and  to  make  up  his  mind 
as  to  what  he  should  do  when  he  arrived  at  Albany.  The  cap 
tain,  with  his  blind  eye,  and  lame  leg,  would,  it  is  true,  bring  his 
strange  dream  to  mind,  and  perplex  him  sadly  for  a  few  mo 
ments  ;  but  of  late  his  life  had  been  made  up  so  much  of  dreams 
and  realities,  his  nights  and  days  had  been  so  jumbled  together, 
that  he  seemed  to  be  moving  continually  in  a  delusion.  There  is 
always,  however,  a  kind  of  vagabond  consolation  in  a  man's  hav 
ing  nothing  in  this  world  to  lose ;  with  this  Dolph  comforted  his 
heart,  and  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the  present  enjoyment. 

In  the  second  day  of  the  voyage  they  came  to  the  highlands. 
It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  calm,  sultry  day,  that  they  floated  gen 
tly  with  the  tide  between  these  stern  mountains.  There  was  that 
perfect  quiet  which  prevails  over  nature  in  the  languor  of  summer 
heat ;  the  turning  of  a  plank,  or  the  accidental  falling  of  an  oar 
on  deck,  was  echoed  from  the  mountain  side,  and  reverberated  along 
the  shores ;  and  if  by  chance  the  captain  gave  a  shout  of  com 
mand,  there  were  airy  tongues  which  mocked  it  from  every  cliff". 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  405 

Dolph  gazed  about  him  in  mute  delight  and  wonder  at  these 
scenes  of  nature's  magnificence.  To  the  left  the  Dunderberg 
reared  its  woody  precipices,  height  over  height,  forest  over  forest, 
away  into  the  deep  summer  sky.  To  the  right  strutted  forth  the 
bold  promontory  of  Antony's  Nose,  with  a  solitary  eagle  wheeling 
about  it ;  while  beyond,  mountain  succeeded  to  mountain,  until 
they  seemed  to  lock  their  arms  together,  and  confine  this  mighty 
river  in  their  embraces.  There  was  a  feeling  of  quiet  luxury  in 
gazing  at  the  broad,  green  bosoms  here  and  there  scooped  out 
among  the  precipices ;  or  at  woodlands  high  in  air,  nodding  over 
the  edge  of  some  beetling  bluff,  and  their  foliage  all  transparent 
in  the  yellow  sunshine. 

In  the  midst  of  his  admiration,  Dolph  remarked  a  pile  of 
bright,  snowy  clouds,  peering  above  the  western  heights.  It  was 
succeeded  by  another,  and  another,  each  seemingly  pushing  on 
wards  its  predecessor,  and  towering,  with  dazzling  brilliancy,  in 
the  deep  blue  atmosphere :  and  now  muttering  peals  of  thunder 
were  faintly  heard  rolling  behind  the  mountains.  The  river, 
hitherto  still  and  glassy,  reflecting  pictures  of  the  sky  and  land, 
now  showed  a  dark  ripple  at  a  distance,  as  the  breeze  came  creep 
ing  up  it.  The  fish-hawks  wheeled  and  screamed,  and  sought 
their  nests  on  the  high  dry  trees ;  the  crows  flew  clamorously  to 
the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  and  all  nature  seemed  conscious  of  the 
approaching  thunder-gust. 

The  clouds  now  rolled  in  volumes  over  the  mountain-tops ; 
their  summits  still  bright  and  snowy,  but  the  lower  parts  of  an 
inky  blackness.  The  rain  began  to  patter  down  in  broad  and 
scattered  drops ;  the  wind  freshened,  and  curled  up  the  waves ; 
at  length  it  seemed  as  if  the  bellying  clouds  were  torn  open  by 
the  mountain-tops,  and  complete  torrents  of  rain  came  rattling 


406  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

down.  The  lightning  leaped  from  cloud  to  cloud,  and  streamed 
quivering  against  the  rocks,  splitting  and  rending  the  stoutest 
forest-trees.  The  thunder  burst  in  tremendous  explosions ;  the 
peals  were  echoed  from  mountain  to  mountain  ;  they  crashed  upon 
Dunderberg,  and  rolled  up  the  long  defile  of  the  highlands,  each 
headland  making  a  new  echo,  until  old  Bull  Hill  seemed  to  bel 
low  back  the  storm. 

For  a  time  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and  the  sheeted  rain, 
almost  hid  the  landscape  from  the  sight.  There  was  a  fearful 
gloom,  illumined  still  more  fearfully  by  the  streams  of  lightning 
which  glittered  among  the  rain-drops.  Never  had  Polph  beheld 
such  an  absolute  warring  of  the  elements ;  it  seemed  as  if  the 
storm  was  tearing  and  rending  its  way  through  this  mountain 
defile,  and  had  brought  all  the  artillery  of  heaven  into  action. 

The  vessel  was  hurried  on  by  the  increasing  wind,  until  she 
came  to  where  the  river  makes  a  sudden  bend,  the  only  one  in 
the  whole  course  of  its  majestic  career.*  Just  as  they  turned  the 
point,  a  violent  flaw  of  wind  came  sweeping  down  a  mountain 
gully,  bending  the  forest  before  it,  and,  in  a  moment,  lashing  up 
the  river  into  white  froth  and  foam.  The  captain  saw  the  dan 
ger,  and  cried  out  to  lower  the  sail.  Before  the  order  could  be 
obeyed,  the  flaw  struck  the  sloop,  and  threw  her  on  her  beam- 
ends.  Every  thing  now  was  fright  and  confusion :  the  flapping 
of  the  sails,  the  whistling  and  rushing  of  the  wind,  the  bawling 
of  the  captain  and  crew,  the  shrieking  of  the  passengers,  all  min 
gled  with  the  rolling  and  bellowing  of  the  thunder.  In  the  midst 
of  the  uproar  the  sloop  righted ;  at  the  same  time  the  mainsail 
shifted,  the  boom  came  sweeping  the  quarter-deck,  and  Dolph, 

*  This  must  have  been  the  bend  at  West  Point. 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  407 

who  was  gazing  unguardedly  at  the  clouds,  found  himself,  in  a 
moment,  floundering  in  the  river. 

For  once  in  his  life  one  of  his  idle  accomplishments  was  of 
use  to  him.  The  many  truant  hours  he  had  devoted  to  sporting 
in  the  Hudson  had  made  him  an  expert  swimmer  ;  yet  with  all  his 
strength  and  skill,  he  found  great  difficulty  in  reaching  the  shore. 
His  disappearance  from  the  deck  had  not  been  noticed  by  the 
crew,  who  were  all  occupied  by  their  own  danger.  The  sloop  was 
driven  along  with  inconceivable  rapidity.  She  had  hard  work  to 
weather  a  long  promontory  on  the  eastern  shore,  round  which 
the  river  turned,  and  which  completely  shut  her  from  Dolph's 
view. 

It  was  on  a  point  of  the  western  shore  that  he  landed,  and, 
scrambling  up  the  rocks,  threw  himself,  faint,  and  exhausted,  at 
the  foot  of  a  tree.  By  degrees  the  thunder-gust  passed  over. 
The  clouds  rolled  away  to  the  east,  where  they  lay  piled  in 
feathery  masses,  tinted  with  the  last  rosy  rays  of  the  sun.  The 
distant  play  of  the  lightning  might  be  seen  about  the  dark  bases, 
and  now  and  then  might  be  heard  the  faint  muttering  of  the 
thunder.  Dolph  rose,  and  sought  about  to  see  if  any  path  led 
from  the  shore,  but  all  was  savage  and  trackless.  The  rocks  were 
piled  upon  each  other ;  great  trunks  of  trees  lay  shattered  about, 
as  they  had  been  blown  down  by  the  strong  winds  which  draw 
through  these  mountains,  or  had  fallen  through  age.  The  rocks, 
too,  were  overhung  with  wild  vines  and  briers,  which  completely 
matted  themselves  together,  and  opposed  a  barrier  to  all  ingress ; 
every  movement  that  he  made  shook  down  a  shower  from  the 
dripping  foliage.  He  attempted  to  scale  one  of  these  almost  per 
pendicular  heights ;  but,  though  strong  and  agile,  he  found  it  an 
Herculean  undertaking.  Often  he  was  supported  merely  by 


408  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

crumbling  projections  of  the  rock,  and  sometimes  he  clung  to 
roots  and  branches  of  trees,  and  hung  almost  suspended  in  the 
air.  The  wood-pigeon  came  cleaving  his  Avhistling  flight  by  him, 
and  the  eagle  screamed  from  the  brow  of  the  impending  cliff.  As 
he  was  thus  clambering,  he  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  hold  of  a 
shrub  to  aid  his  ascent,  when  something  rustled  among  the  leaves, 
and  he  saw  a  snake  quivering  along  like  lightning,  almost  from 
under  his  hand.  It  coiled  itself  up  immediately,  in  an  attitude  of 
defiance,  with  flattened  head,  distended  jaws,  and  quickly  vibrat 
ing  tongue,  that  played  like  a  little  flame  about  its  mouth.  Dolph's 
heart  turned  faint  within  him,  and  he  had  well  nigh  let  go  his 
hold,  and  tumbled  down  the  precipice.  The  serpent  stood  on  the 
defensive  but  for  an  instant ;  and  finding  there  was  no  attack, 
glided  away  into  a  cleft  of  the  rock.  Dolph's  eye  followed  it 
with  fearful  intensity,  and  saw  a  nest  of  adders,  knotted,  and 
writhing,  and  hissing  in  the  chasm.  He  hastened  with  all  speed 
from  so  frightful  a  neighborhood.  His  imagination,  full  of  this 
new  horror,  saw  an  adder  in  every  curling  vine,  and  heard  the 
tail  of  a  rattlesnake  in  every  dry  leaf  that  rustled. 

At  length  he  succeeded  in  scrambling  to  the  summit  of  a  pre 
cipice  ;  but  it  was  covered  by  a  dense  forest.  Wherever  he  could 
gain  a  look  out  between  the  trees,  he  beheld  heights  and  cliffs, 
one  rising  beyond  another,  until  huge  mountains  overtopped  the 
whole.  There  were  no  signs  of  cultivation ;  no  smoke  curling 
.among  the  trees  to  indicate  a  human  residence.  Every  thing  was 
wild  and  solitary.  As  he  was  standing  on  the  edge  of  a  precipice 
overlooking  a  deep  ravine  fringed  with  trees,  his  feet  detached  a 
great  fragment  of  rock  ;  it  fell,  crashing  its  way  through  the  tree- 
lops,  down  into  the  chasm.  A  loud  whoop,  or  rather  yell,  issued 
from  the  bottom  of  the  glen ;  the  moment  after  there  was  the 


DOLPH   HETLIGER.  409 

report  of  a  gun  ;  and  a  ball  came  whistling  over  his  head,  cutting 
the  twigs  and  leaves,  and  burying  itself  deep  in  the  bark  of  a 
chestnut-tree. 

Dolph  did  not  wait  for  a  second  shot,  but  made  a  precipitate 
retreat ;  fearing  every  moment  to  hear  the  enemy  in  pursuit.  He 
succeeded,  however,  in  returning  unmolested  to  the  shore,  and 
determined  to  penetrate  no  farther  into  a  country  so  beset  with 
savage  perils. 

He  sat  himself  down,  dripping,  disconsolately,  on  a  stone. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  where  was  he  to  shelter  himself?  The 
hour  of  repose  was  approaching;  the  birds  were  seeking  their 
nests,  the  bat  began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight,  and  the  night- 
hawk,  soaring  high  in  the  heaven,  seemed  to  be  calling  out  the 
stars.  Night  gradually  closed  in,  and  Avrapped  every  thing  in 
gloom ;  and  though  it  was  the  latter  part  of  summer,  the  breeze 
stealing  along  the  river,  and  among  these  dripping  forests,  was 
chilly  and  penetrating,  especially  to  a  half-drowned  man. 

As  he  sat  drooping  and  despondent  in  this  comfortless  condi 
tion,  he  perceived  a  light  gleaming  through  the  trees  near  the 
shore,  where  the  winding  of  the  river  made  a  deep  bay.  It 
cheered  him  with  the  hope  of  a  human  habitation,  where  he  might 
get  something  to  appease  the  clamorous  cravings  of  his  stomach, 
and  what  was  equally  necessary  in  his  shipwrecked  condition,  a 
comfortable  shelter  for  the  night.  With  extreme  difficulty  he 
made  his  way  toward  the  light,  along  ledges  of  rocks,  down  which 
he  was  in  danger  of  sliding  into  the  river,  and  over  great  trunks 
of  fallen  trees ;  some  of  which  had  been  blown  down  in  the  late 
storm,  and  lay  so  thickly  together,  that  he  had  to  struggle  through 
their  branches.  At  length  he  came  to  the  brow  of  a  rock  over 
hanging  a  small  dell,  whence  the  light  proceeded.  It  was  from  a 
18 


410  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

fire  at  the  foot  of  a  great  tree  in  the  midst  of  a  grassy  interval  or 
plat  among  the  rocks.  The  fire  cast  up  a  red  glare  among  the  gray 
crags,  and  impending  trees ;  leaving  chasms  of  deep  gloom,  that 
resembled  entrances  to  caverns.  A  small  brook  rippled  close  by, 
betrayed  by  the  quivering  reflection  of  the  flame.  There  were 
two  figures  moving  about  the  fire,  and  others  squatted  before  it. 
As  they  were  between  him  and  the  light,  they  were  in  complete 
shadow :  but  one  of  them  happening  to  move  round  to  the  oppo 
site  side,  Dolph  was  startled  at  perceiving,  by  the  glare  falling  on 
painted  features,  and  glittering  on  silver  ornaments,  that  he  was 
an  Indian.  He  now  looked  more  narrowly,  and  saw  guns  leaning 
against  a  tree,  and  a  dead  body  lying  on  the  ground.  Here  was 
the  very  foe  that  had  fired  at  him  from  the  glen.  He  endeavored 
to  retreat  quietly,  not  caring  to  intrust  himself  to  these  half-human 
beings  in  so  savage  and  lonely  a  place.  It  was  too  late :  the  In 
dian,  with  that  eagle  quickness  of  eye  so  remarkable  in  his  race, 
perceived  something  stirring  among  the  bushes  on  the  rock :  he 
seized  one  of  the  guns  that  leaned  against  the  tree ;  one  moment 
more,  and  Dolph  might  have  had  his  passion  for  adventure  cured 
by  a  bullet.  He  halloed  loudly,  with  the  Indian  salutation  of 
friendship :  the  whole  party  sprang  upon  their  feet ;  the  saluta 
tion  was  returned,  and  the  straggler  was  invited  to  join  them  at 
the  fire. 

On  approaching,  he  found,  to  his  consolation,  the  party  was 
composed  of  white  men,  as  well  as  Indians.  One,  evidently  the 
principal  personage,  or  commander,  was  seated  on  a  trunk  of  a 
tree  before  the  fire.  He  was  a  large,  stout  man,  somewhat  ad 
vanced  in  life,  but  hale  and  hearty.  His  face  was  bronzed  almost 
to  the  color  of  an  Indian's ;  he  had  strong  but  rather  jovial  fea 
tures,  an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  mouth  shaped  like  a  mastiff's.  His 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  411 

face  was  half  thrown  in  shade  by  a  broad  hat,  with  a  buck's  tail 
in  it.  His  gray  hair  hung  short  in  his  neck.  He  wore  a  hunting- 
frock,  with  Indian  leggins,  and  moccasons,  and  a  tomahawk  in  the 
broad  wampum-belt  round  his  waist.  As  Dolph  caught  a  distinct 
view  of  his  person  and  features,  something  reminded  him  of  the 
old  man  of  the  haunted  house.  The  man  before  him,  however, 
was  different  in  dress  and  age ;  he  was  more  cheery  too  in  aspect, 
and  it  was  hard  to  find  where  the  vague  resemblance  lay ;  but  a 
resemblance  there  certainly  was.  Dolph  felt  some  degree  of  awe 
in  approaching  him  ;  but  was  assured  by  a  frank,  hearty  welcome. 
He  was  still  further  encouraged  by  perceiving  that  the  dead  body, 
which  had  caused  him  some  alarm,  was  that  of  a  deer ;  and  his 
satisfaction  was  complete  in  discerning,  by  savory  steams  from  a 
kettle,  suspended  by  a  hooked  stick  over  the  fire,  that  there  was 
a  part  cooking  for  the  evening's  repast. 

He 'had,  in  fact,  fallen  in  with  a  rambling  hunting  party; 
such  as  often  took  place  in  those  days  among  the  settlers  along 
the  river.  The  hunter  is  always  hospitable  ;  and  nothing  makes 
men  more  social  and  unceremonious  than  meeting  in  the  wilder 
ness.  The  commander  of  the  party  poured  out  a  dram  of  cheer 
ing  liquor,  Avhich  he  gave  him  with  a  merry  leer,  to  warm  his 
heart ;  and  ordered  one  of  his  followers  to  fetch  some  garments 
from  a  pinnace,  moored  in  a  cove  close  by,  while  those  in  which 
our  hero  was  dripping  might  be  dried  before  the  fire. 

Dolph  found,  as  he  had  suspected,  that  the  shot  from  the  glen, 
which  had  come  so  near  giving  him  his  quietus,  when  on  the  pre 
cipice,  was  from  the  party  before  him.  He  had  nearly  crushed 
one  of  them  by  the  fragments  of  rock  which  he  had  detached  ; 
and  the  jovial  old  hunter,  in  the  broad  hat  and  buck-tail,  had  fired 
at  the  place  where  he  saw  the  bushes  move,  supposing  it  to  be 


412  BEACEBBIDGE   HALL. 

some  wild  animal.  He  laughed  heartily  at  the  blunder ;  it  being 
what  is  considered  an  exceeding  good  joke  among  hunters ;  l<  but 
faith,  my  lad,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  but  caught  a  glimpse  of  you  to 
take  sight  at,  you  would  have  followed  the  rock.  Antony  Vander 
Heyden  is  seldom  known  to  miss  his  aim."  These  last  words 
were  at  once  a  clue  to  Dolph's  curiosity ;  and  a  few  questions  let 
him  completely  into  the  character  of  the  man  before  him,  and  of 
his  band  of  woodland  rangers.  The  commander  in  the  broad  hat 
and  hunting-frock  was  no  less  a  personage  than  the  Heer  Antony 
Vander  Heyden,  of  Albany,  of  whom  Dolph  had  many  a  time 
heard.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  hero  of  many  a  story ;  his  singular 
humors  and  whimsical  habits,  being  matters  of  wonder  to  his 
quiet  Dutch  neighbors.  As  he  was  a  man  of  property,  having 
had  a  father  before  him,  from  whom  he  inherited  large  tracts  of 
wild  land,  and  whole  barrels  full  of  wampum,  he  could  indulge 
his  humors  without  control.  Instead  of  staying  quietly  at  home, 
eating  and  drinking  at  regular  meal  times,  amusing  himself  by 
smoking  his  pipe  on  the  bench  before  the  door,  and  then  turning 
into  a  comfortable  bed  at  night,  he  delighted  in  all  kinds  of 
rough,  wild  expeditions.  Never  so  happy  as  when  on  a  hunting 
party  in  the  wilderness,  sleeping  under  trees  or  bark  sheds,  or 
cruising  down  the  river,  or  on  some  woodland  lake,  fishing  and 
fowling,  and  living  the  Lord  knows  how. 

He  was  a  great  friend  to  Indians,  and  to  an  Indian  mode  of 
life ;  which  he  considered  true  natural  liberty  and  manly  enjoy 
ment.  When  at  home  he  had  always  several  Indian  hangers-on, 
who  loitered  about  his  house,  sleeping  like  hounds  in  the  sun 
shine  ;  or  preparing  hunting  and  fishing-tackle  for  some  ne\v  ex 
pedition  ;  or  shooting  at  marks  with  bows  and  arrows. 

Over  these  vagrant  beings  Heer  Antony  had  as  perfect  com- 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEK.  413 

mand  as  a  huntsman  over  his  pack ;  though  they  were  great 
nuisances  to  the  regular  people  of  his  neighborhood.  As  he  was 
a  rich  man,  no  one  ventured  to  thwart  his  humors ;  indeed,  his 
hearty,  joyous  manner  made  him  universally  popular.  He  would 
troll  a  Dutch  song  as  he  tramped  along  the  street ;  hail  every  one 
a  mile  off,  and  when  he  entered  a  house,  would  slap  the  good  man 
familiarly  on  the  back,  shake  him  by  the  hand  till  he  roared,  and 
kiss  his  wife  and  daughter  before  his  face — in  short,  there  was  no 
pride  nor  ill  humor  about  Heer  Antony. 

Besides  his  Indian  hangers-on,  he  had  three  or  four  humble 
friends  among  the  white  men,  who  looked  up  to  him  as  a  patron, 
and  had  the  run  of  his  kitchen,  and  the  favor  of  being  taken  with 
him  occasionally  on  his  expeditions.  With  a  medley  of  such  re 
tainers  he  was  at  present  on  a  cruise  along  the  shores  of  the  Hud 
son,  in  a  pinnace  kept  for  his  own  recreation.  There  were  two 
white  men  with  him,  dressed  partly  in  the  Indian  style,  with  moc- 
casons  and  hunting-shirts  ;  the  rest  of  his  crew  consisted  of  four 
favorite  Indians.  They  had  been  prowling  about  the  river,  with 
out  any  definite  object,  until  they  found  themselves  in  the  high 
lands  ;  where  they  had  passed  two  or  three  days,  hunting  the 
deer  which  still  lingered  among  these  mountains. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  you,  young  man,"  said  Antony  Vander  Hey- 
den,  "  that  you  happened  to  be  knocked  overboard  to-day ;  as  to 
morrow  morning  we  start  early  on  our  return  homewards ;  and 
you  might  then  have  looked  in  vain  for  a  meal  among  the  moun 
tains — but  come,  lads,  stir  about !  stir  about !  Let's  see  what 
prog  Ave  have  for  supper ;  the  kettle  has  boiled  long  enough  ;  my 
stomach  cries  cubpoard ;  and  I'll  warrant  our  guest  is  in  no  mood 
to  dally  with  his  trencher." 

There  was  a  bustle  now  in  the  little  encampment ;  one  took 


414  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

off  the  kettle  and  turned  a  part  of  the  contents  into  a  huge 
wooden  bowl.  Another  prepared  a  flat  rock  for  a  table ;  while  a 
third  brought  various  utensils  from  the  pinnace ;  Heer  Antony 
himself  brought  a  flask  or  two  of  precious  liquor  from  his  own 
private  locker ;  knowing  his  boon  companions  too  well  to  trust 
any  of  them  with  the  key. 

A  rude  but  hearty  repast  was  soon  spread ;  consisting  of  veni 
son  smoking  from  the  kettle,  with  cold  bacon,  boiled  Indian  corn, 
and  mighty  loaves  of  good  brown  household  bread.  Never  had 
Dolph  made  a  more  delicious  repast ;  and  when  he  had  washed  it 
down  with  two  or  three  draughts  from  the  Heer  Antony's  flask, 
and  felt  the  jolly  liquor  sending  its  warmth  through  his  veins, 
and  glowing  round  his  very  heart,  he  would  not  have  changed  his 
situation,  no,  not  with  the  governor  of  the  province. 

The  Heer  Antony,  too,  grew  chirping  and  joyous ;  told  half  a 
dozen  fat  stories,  at  which  his  white  followers  laughed  immode 
rately,  though  the  Indians,' as  usual,  maintained  an  invincible 
gravity. 

"  This  is  your  true  life,  my  boy !  "  said  he,  slapping  Dolph  on 
the  shoulder ;  "  a  man  is  never  a  man  till  he  can  defy  wind  and 
weather,  range  woods  and  wilds,  sleep  under  a  tree,  and  live  on 
bass-wood  leaves ! " 

And  then  would  he  sing  a  stave  or  two  of  a  Dutch  drinking 
song,  swaying  a  short  squab  Dutch  bottle  in  his  hand,  while  his 
myrmidons  would  join  in  the  chorus,  until  the  woods  echoed 
again ; — as  the  good  old  song  has  it, 

"They  all  with  a  shout  made  the  elements  ring 

So  soon  as  the  office  was  o'er ; 
To  feasting  they  went,  with  true  merriment, 
And  tippled  strong  liquor  gillore." 


DOLPH    HEYLIGER.  415 

In  the  midst  of  his  joviality,  however,  Heer  Antony  did  not 
lose  sight  of  discretion.  Though  he  pushed  the  bottle  without 
reserve  to  Dolph,  he  always  took  care  to  help  his  followers  him 
self,  knowing  the  beings  he  had  to  deal  with ;  and  was  particular 
in  granting  but  a  moderate  allowance  to  the  Indians.  The  repast 
being  ended,  the  Indians  having  drunk  their  liquor,  and  smoked 
their  pipes,  now  wrapped  themselves  in  their  blankets,  stretched 
themselves  on  the  ground,  Avith  their  feet  to  the  fire,  and  soon 
fell  asleep,  like  so  many  tired  hounds.  The  rest  of  the  party  re 
mained  chatting  before  the  fire,  which  the  gloom  of  the  forest, 
and  the  dampness  of  the  air  from  the  late  storm,  rendered  ex 
tremely  grateful  and  comforting.  The  conversation  gradually 
moderated  from  the  hilarity  of  supper-time,  and  turned  upon 
hunting  adventures,  and  exploits  and  perils  in  the  wilderness ; 
many  of  which  were  so  strange  and  improbable,  that  I  Avill  hot 
venture  to  repeat  them,  lest  the  veracity  of  Antony  Vander  Hey- 
den  and  his  comrades  should  be  brought  into  question.  There 
were  many  legendary  tales  told,  also,  about  the  river,  and  the 
settlements  on  its  borders ;  in  which  valuable  kind  of  lore  the 
Heer  Antony  seemed  deeply  versed.  As  the  sturdy  bush-beater 
sat  in  a  twisted  root  of  a  tree,  that  served  him  for  an  arm-chair, 
dealing  forth  these  wild  stories,  with  the  fire  gleaming  on  his 
strongly-marked  visage,  Dolph  was  again  repeatedly  perplexed 
by  something  that  reminded  him  of  the  phantom  of  the  haunted 
house ;  some  vague  resemblance  not  to  be  fixed  upon  any  precise 
feature  or  lineament,  but  pervading  the  general  air  of  his  coun 
tenance  and  figure. 

The  circumstance  of  Dolph's  falling  overboard  led  to  the 
relation  of  divers  disasters  and  singular  mishaps  that  had  be 
fallen  voyagers  on  this  great  river,  particularly  in  the  earlier 


416  BEACEBBIDGE  HALL. 

periods  of  colonial  history ;  most  of  which  the  Heer  deliberately 
attributed  to  supernatural  causes.  Dolph  stared  at  this  sugges 
tion  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  assured  him  it  was  very  currently 
believed  by  the  settlers  along  the  river,  that  these  highlands  were 
under  the  dominion  of  supernatural  and  mischievous  beings, 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  some  pique  against  the  Dutch  colo 
nists  in  the  early  time  of  the  settlement.  In  consequence  of  this, 
they  have  ever  taken  particular  delight  in  venting  their  spleen, 
and  indulging  their  humors,  upon  the  Dutch  skippers ;  bothering 
them  Avith  flaws,  head-winds,  counter-currents,  and  all  kinds  of 
impediments ;  insomuch,  that  a  Dutch  navigator  was  always 
obliged  to  be  exceedingly  wary  and  deliberate  in  his  proceedings ; 
to  come  to  anchor  at  dusk ;  to  drop  his  peak,  or  take  in  sail, 
whenever  he  saw  a  swag-bellied  cloud  rolling  over  the  moun 
tains  ;  in  short,  to  take  so  many  precautions,  that  he  was  often 
apt  to  be  an  incredible  time  in  toiling  up  the  river. 

Some,  he  said,  believed  these  mischievous  powers  of  the  air 
to  be  evil  spirits  conjured  up  by  the  Indian  wizards,  in  the  early 
times  of  the  province,  to  revenge  themselves  on  the  strangers 
who  had  dispossessed  them  of  their  country.  They  even  attri 
buted  to  their  incantations  the  misadventure  which  befell  the 
renowned  Hendrick  Hudson,  when  he  sailed  so  gallantly  up  this 
river  in  quest  of  a  northwest  passage,  and,  as  he  thought,  ran  his 
ship  aground ;  which  they  affirm  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  spell  of  these  same  wizards,  to  prevent  his  getting  to  China  in 
this  direction. 

The  greater  part,  however,  Heer  Antony  observed,  accounted 
for  all  the  extraordinary  circumstances  attending  this  river,  and 
the  perplexities  of  the  skippers  who  navigated  it,  by  the  old 
legend  of  the  Storm-ship  which  haunted  Point-no-point.  On 


DOLPH   HEYLIGER. 


417 


finding  Dolph  to  be  utterly  ignorant  of  this  tradition,  the  Heer 
stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  surprise,  and  wondered  where 
he  had  passed  his  life,  to  be  uninformed  on  so  important  a  point 
of  history.  To  pass  away  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  there 
fore,  he  undertook  the  tale,  as  far  as  his  memory  would  serve,  in 
the  very  words  in  which  it  had  been  written  out  by  Mynheer 
Selyne,  an  early  poet  of  the  New  Nederlandts.  Giving,  then,  a 
stir  to  the  fire,  that  sent  up  its  sparks  among  the  trees  like  a  lit 
tle  volcano,  he  adjusted  himself  comfortably  in  his  root  of  a  tree ; 
and  throwing  back  his  head,  and  closing  his  eyes  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  to  summon  up  his  recollection,  he  related  the  following 
legend. 


THE  STORM-SHIP. 

IN  the  golden  age  of  the  province  of  the  New  Netherlands,  when 
under  the  sway  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  otherwise  called  the 
Doubter,  the  people  of  the  Manhattoes  were  alarmed  one  sultry 
afternoon,  just  about  the  time  of  the  summer  solstice,  by  a  tre 
mendous  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning.  The  rain  fell  in  such 
torrents  as  absolutely  to  spatter  up  and  smoke  along  the  ground. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  thunder  rattled  and  rolled  over  the  very  roofs 
of  the  houses ;  the  lightning  was  seen  to  play  about  the  church 
of  St.  Nicholas,  and  to  strive  three  times,  in  vain,  to  strike  its 
weather-cock.  Garret  Van  Home's  new  chimney  was  split  almost 
from  top  to  bottom ;  and  DofFue  Mildeberger  was  struck  speech 
less  from  his  bald-faced  mare,  just  as  he  was  riding  into  town. 
In  a  word,  it  was  one  of  those  unparalleled  storms,  which  only 
happen  once  within  the  memory  of  that  venerable  personage, 
known  in  all  towns  by  the  appellation  of  "  the  oldest  inhabitant." 

Great  was  the  terror  of  the  good  old  women  of  the  Manhat 
toes.  They  gathered  their  children  together,  and  took  refuge  in 
the  cellars ;  after  having  hung  a  shoe  on  the  iron  point  of  every 
bed-post,  lest  it  should  attract  the  lightning.  At  length  the  storm 
abated ;  the  thunder  sank  into  a  growl,  and  the  setting  sun, 
breaking  from  under  the  fringed  borders  of  the  clouds,  made  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  bay  to  gleam  like  a  sea  of  molten  gold. 

The  word  was  given  from  the  fort  that  a  ship  was  standing 


THE   STOKM-SHIP.  419 

up  the  bay.  It  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  and  street  to  street, 
and  soon  put  the  little  capital  in  a  bustle.  The  arrival  of  a  ship, 
in  those  early  times  of  the  settlement,  was  an  event  of  vast  im 
portance  to  the  inhabitants.  It  brought  them  news  from  the  old 
world,  from  the  land  of  their  birth,  from  which  they  were  so  com 
pletely  severed:  to  the  yearly  ship,  too,  they  looked  for  their 
supply  of  luxuries,  of  finery,  of  comforts,  and  almost  of  neces 
saries.  The  good  vrouw  could  not  have  her  new  cap  nor  new 
gown  until  the  arrival  of  the  ship ;  the  artist  waited  for  it  for  his 
tools,  the  burgomaster  for  his  pipe  and  his  supply  of  Hollands, 
the  schoolboy  for  his  top  and  marbles,  and  the  lordly  landholder 
for  the  bricks  with  which  he  was  to  build  his  new  mansion. 
Thus  every  one,  rich  and  poor,  great  and  small,  looked  out  for 
the  arrival  of  the  ship.  It  was  the  great  yearly  event  of  the 
town  of  New  Amsterdam ;  and  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the 
other,  the  ship — the  ship — the  ship — was  the  continual  topic  of 
conversation. 

The  news  from  the  fort,  therefore,  brought  all  the  populace 
down  to  the  battery,  to  behold  the  wished-for  sight.  It  was  not 
exactly  the  time  when  she  had  been  expected  to  arrive,  and  the 
circumstance  was  a  matter  of  some  speculation.  Many  were  the 
groups  collected  about  the  battery.  Here  and  there  might  be 
seen  a  burgomaster,  of  slow  and  pompous  gravity,  giving  his 
opinion  with  great  confidence  to  a  crowd  of  old  women  and  idle 
boys.  At  another  place  was  a  knot  of  old  weather-beaten  fel 
lows,  who  had  been  seamen  or  fishermen  in  their  times,  and  were 
great  authorities  on  such  occasions  ;  these  gave  different  opinions, 
and  caused  great  disputes  among  their  several  adherents  :  but  the 
man  most  looked  up  to,  and  followed  and  watched  by  the  crowd, 
was  Hans  Van  Pelt,  an  old  Dutch  sea-captain  retired  from  service, 


420  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

the  nautical  oracle  of  the  place.  He  reconnoitred  the  ship  through 
an  ancient  telescope,  covered  with  tarry  canvas,  hummed  a  Dutch 
tune  to  himself,  and  said  nothing.  A  hum,  however,  from  Hans 
Van  Pelt,  had  always  more  weight  with  the  public  than  a  speech 
from  another  man. 

In  the  mean  time  the  ship  hecame  more  distinct  to  the  naked 
eye :  she  was  a  stout,  round,  Dutch-built  vessel,  with  high  bow 
and  poop,  and  bearing  Dutch  colors.  The  evening  sun  gilded 
her  bellying  canvas,  as  she  came  riding  over  the  long  waving  bil 
lows.  The  sentinel  who  had  given  notice  of  her  approach,  de 
clared,  that  he  first  got  sight  of  her  when  she  was  in  the  centre 
of  the  bay ;  and  that  she  broke  suddenly  on  his  sight,  just  as  if 
she  had  come  out  of  the  bosom  of  the  black  thunder-cloud.  The 
bystanders  looked  at  Hans  Van  Pelt,  to  see  what  he  would  say  to 
this  report :  Hans  Van  Pelt  screwed  his  mouth  closer  together, 
and  said  nothing ;  upon  which  some  shook  their  heads,  and  oth 
ers  shrugged  their  shoulders. 

The  ship  was  now  repeatedly  hailed,  but  made  no  reply,  and 
passing  by  the  fort,  stood  on  up  the  Hudson.  A  gun  was  brought 
to  bear  on  her,  and,  with  some  difficulty,  loaded  and  fired  by  Hans 
Van  Pelt,  the  garrison  not  being  expert  in  artillery.  The  shot 
seemed  absolutely  to  pass  through  the  ship,  and  to  skip  along  the 
water  on  the  other  side,  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  it !  What 
was  strange,  she  had  all  her  sails  set,  and  sailed  right  against 
wind  and  tide,  which  were  both  down  the  river.  Upon  this  Hans 
Van  Pelt,  who  was  likewise  harbor-master,  ordered  his  boat,  and 
set  off  to  board  her ;  but  after  rowing  two  or  three  hours,  he  re 
turned  without  success.  Sometimes  he  would  get  within  one  or 
two  hundred  yards  of  her,  and  then,  in  a  twinkling,  she  would 
be  half  a  mile  off.  Some  said  it  was  because  his  oarsmen,  who 


THE   STORM-SHIP.  421 

were  rather  pursy  and  short-winded,  stopped  every  now  and  then 
to  take  breath,  and  spit  on  their  hands ;  but  this  it  is  probable 
was  a  mere  scandal.  He  got  near  enough,  however,  to  see  the 
crew ;  who  were  all  dressed  in  the  Dutch  style,  the  officers  in 
doublets  and  high  hats  and  feathers ;  not  a  word  was  spoken  by 
any  one  on  board ;  they  stood  as  motionless  as  so  many  statues, 
and  the  ship  seemed  as  if  left  to  her  own  government.  Thus  she 
kept  on,  away  up  the  river,  lessening  and  lessening  in  the  even 
ing  sunshine,  until  she  faded  from  sight,  like  a  little  white  cloud 
melting  away  in  the  summer  sky. 

The  appearance  of  this  ship  threw  the  governor  into  one  of 
the  deepest  doubts  that  ever  b'eset  him  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
administration.  Fears  were  entertained  for  the  security  of  the 
infant  settlements  on  the  river,  lest  this  might  be  an  enemy's  ship 
in  disguise,  sent  to  take  possession.  The  governor  called  together 
his  council  repeatedly  to  assist  him  with  their  conjectures.  He 
sat  in  his  chair  of  state,  built  of  timber  from  the  sacred  forest  of 
the  Hague,  smoking  his  long  jasmin  pipe,  and  listening  to  all 
that  his  counsellors  had  to  say  on  a  subject  about  which  they 
knew  nothing ;  but  in  spite  of  all  the  conjecturing  of  the  sagest 
and  oldest  heads,  the  governor  still  continued  to  doubt. 

Messengers  were  dispatched  to  different  places  on  the  river ; 
but  they  returned  without  any  tidings — the  ship  had  made  no 
port.  Day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  elapsed,  but  she  never 
returned  down  the  Hudson.  As,  however,  the  council  seemed 
solicitous  for  intelligence,  they  had  it  in  abundance.  The  captains 
of  the  sloops  seldom  arrived  without  bringing  some  report  of  hav 
ing  seen  the  strange  ship  at  different  parts  of  the  river ;  some 
times  near  the  Pallisadoes,  sometimes  off  Croton  Point,  and  some 
times  in  the  highlands ;  but  she  never  was  reported  as  having 


422  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

been  seen  above  the  highlands.  The  crews  of  the  sloops,  it  is 
true,  generally  differed  among  themselves  in  their  accounts  of 
these  apparitions ;  but  that  may  have  arisen  from  the  uncertain 
situations  in  which  they  saw  her.  Sometimes  it  was  by  the  flashes 
of  the  thunder-storm  lighting  up  a  pitchy  night,  and  giving 
glimpses  of  her  careering  across  Tappaan  Zee,  or  the  wide  waste 
of  Haverstraw  Bay.  At  one  moment  she  would  appear  close 
upon  them,  as  if  likely  to  run  them  down,  and  would  throw  them 
into  great  bustle  and  alarm ;  but  the  next  flash  would  show  her 
far  off,  always  sailing  against  the  wind.  Sometimes,  in  quiet 
moonlight  nights,  she  would  be  seen  under  some  high  bluft'  of  the 
highlands,  all  in  deep  shadow,  excepting  her  topsails  glittering 
in  the  moonbeams ;  by  the  time,  however,  that  the  voyagers 
reached  the  place,  no  ship  was  to  be  seen ;  and  when  they  had 
passed  on  for  some  distance,  and  looked  back,  behold !  there  she 
was  again,  with  her  topsails  in  the  moonshine !  Her  appearance 
was  always  just  after,  or  just  before,  or  just  in  the  midst  of  un 
ruly  weather ;  and  she  was  known  among  the  skippers  and  voy 
agers  of  the  Hudson  by  the  name  of  "  the  storm-ship." 

These  reports  perplexed  the  governor  and  his  council  more 
than  ever ;  and  it  would  be  endless  to  repeat  the  conjectures  and 
opinions  uttered  on  the  subject.  Some  quoted  cases  in  point,  of 
ships  seen  off  the  coast  of  New  England,  navigated  by  witches 
and  goblins.  Old  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who  had  been  more  than  once 
to  the  Dutch  colony  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  insisted  that  this 
must  be  the  flying  Dutchman,  which  had  so  long  haunted  Table 
Bay ;  but  being  unable  to  make  port,  had  now  sought  another 
harbor.  Others  suggested,  that  if  it  really  was  a  supernatural 
apparition,  as  there  was  every  natural  reason  to  believe,  it  might 
be  Hendrick  Hudson,  and  his  crew  of  the  Halfmoon  ;  who,  it  was 


THE   STORM-SHIP.  423 

well  known,  had  once  run  aground  in  the  upper  part  of  the  river 
in  seeking  a  northwest  passage  to  China.  This  opinion  had  very 
little  weight  with  the  governor,  but  it  passed  current  out  of  doors  ; 
for  indeed  it  had  already  been  reported,  that  Hendrick  Hudson 
and  his  crew  haunted  the  Kaatskill  Mountain ;  and  it  appeared 
very  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  his  ship  might  infest  the  river 
where  the  enterprise  was  baffled,  or  that  it  might  bear  the  shad 
owy  crew  to  their  periodical  revels  in  the  mountain. 

Other  events  occurred  to  occupy  the  thoughts  and  doubts  of 
the  sage  Wouter  and  his  council,-  and  the  storm-ship  ceased  to  be 
a  subject  of  deliberation  at  the  board.  It  continued,  however,  a 
matter  of  popular  belief  and  marvellous  anecdote  through  the 
whole  time  of  the  Dutch  government,  and  particularly  just  before 
the  capture  of  New  Amsterdam,  and  the  subjugation  of  the  pro 
vince  by  the  English  squadron.  About  that  time  the  storm-ship 
was  repeatedly  seen  in  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  about  Weehawk, 
and  even  down  as  far  as  Hoboken ;  and  her  appearance  was  sup 
posed  to  be  ominous  of  the  approaching  squall  in  public  affairs, 
and  the  downfall  of  Dutch  domination. 

Since  that  time  we  have  no  authentic  accounts  of  her  ;  though 
it  is  said  she  still  haunts  the  highlands,  and  cruises  about  Point- 
no-point.  People  who  live  along  the  river,  insist  that  they  some 
times  see  her  in  summer  moonlight ;  and  that  in  a  deep  still  mid 
night  they  hare  heard  the  chant  of  her  crew,  as  if  heaving  the 
lead ;  but  sights  and  sounds  are  so  deceptive  along  the  mountain 
ous  shores,  and  about  the  wide  bays  and  long  reaches  of  this  great 
river,  that  I  confess  I  have  very  strong  doubts  upon  the  subject. 

It  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  strange  things  have  been  seen 
in  these  highlands  in  storms,  which  are  considered  as  connected 
with  the  old  story  of  the  ship.  The  captains  of  the  river  craft 


424  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

talk  of  a  little  bulbous-bottomed  Dutch  goblin,  in  trunk  hose  and 
sugar-loafed  hat,  with  a  speaking  trumpet  in  his  hand,  which  they 
say  keeps  about  the  Dunderberg.*  They  declare  that  they  have 
heard  him,  in  stormy  weather,  in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil,  giving 
orders  in  Low  Dutch  for  the  piping  up  of  a  fresh  gust  of  wind,  or 
the  rattling  off  of  another  thunder-clap.  That  sometimes  he  has 
been  seen  surrounded  by  a  crew  of  little  imps  in  broad  breeches 
and  short  doublets ;  tumbling  head  over  heels  in  the  rack  and 
mist,  and  playing  a  thousand  gambols  in  the  air ;  or  buzzing  like 
a  swarm  of  flies  about  Antony's  Nose ;  and  that,  at  such  times, 
the  hurry-scurry  of  the  storm  was  always  greatest.  One  time  a 
sloop,  in  passing  by  the  Dunderberg,  was  overtaken  by  a  thunder- 
gust,  that  came  scouring  round  the  mountain,  and  seemed  to  burst 
just  over  the  vessel.  Though  tight  and  well  ballasted,  she  labored 
dreadfully,  and  the  water  came  over  the  gunwale.  All  the  crew- 
were  amazed,  when  it  was  discovered  that  there  was  a  little  white 
sugar-loaf  hat  on  the  mast-head,  known  at  once  to  be  the  hat  of 
the  Heer  of  the  Dunderberg.  Nobody,  however,  dared  to  climb 
to  the  mast-head,  and  get  rid  of  this  terrible  hat.  The  sloop 
continued  laboring  and  rocking,  as  if  she  would  have  rolled  her 
mast  overboard,  and  seemed  in  continual  danger  either  of  upset 
ting  or  of  running  on  shore.  In  this  way  she  drove  quite  through 
the  highlands,  until  she  had  passed  Pollopol's  Island,  where,  it  is 
said,  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Dunderberg  potentate  ceases.  No 
sooner  had  she  passed  this  bourne,  than  the  little  hat  spun  up  into 
the  air  like  a  top,  whirled  up  all  the  clouds  into  a  vortex,  and 
hurried  them  back  to  the  summit  of  the  Dunderberg ;  while  the 
sloop  righted  herself,  and  sailed  on  as  quietly  as  if  in  a  mill-pond. 

*  i.  e.  The  "  Thunder-Mountain,"  so  called  from  its  ecoes. 


THE    STORM-SHIP.  425 

Nothing  saved  her  from  utter  wreck  but  the  fortunate  circum 
stance  of  having  a  horse-shoe  nailed  against  the  mast ;  a  wise 
precaution  against  evil  spirits,  since  adopted  by  all  the  Dutch 
captains  that  navigate  this  haunted  river. 

There  is  another  story  told  of  this  foul-weather  urchin,  by 
Skipper  Daniel  Ouselsticker,  of  Fishkill,  who  was  never  known 
to  tell  a  lie.  He  declared,  that,  in  a  severe  squall,  he  saw  him 
seated  astride  of  his  bowsprit,  riding  the  sloop  ashore,  full  butt 
against  Antony's  Nose,  and  that  he  was  exorcised  by  Dominie 
Van  Gieson,  of  Esopus,  who  happened  to  be  on  board,  and  who 
sang  the  hymn  of  St.  Nicholas  ;  whereupon  the  goblin  threw  him- 
'self  up  in  the  air  like  a  ball,  and  went  off  in  a  whirlwind,  carry 
ing  away  with  him  the  nightcap  of  the  Dominie's  wife ;  which 
was  discovered  the  next  Sunday  morning  hanging  on  the  weather 
cock  of  Esopus  church  steeple,  at  least  forty  miles  off!  Several 
events  of  this  kind  having  taken  place,  the  regular  skippers  of 
the  river,  for  a  long  time,  did  not  venture  to  pass  the  Dunderberg, 
without  lowering  their  peaks,  out  of  homage  to  the  Heer  of  the 
mountain  ;  and  it  was  observed  that  all  such  as  paid  this  tribute 
of  respect  were  suffered  to  pass  unmolested.* 

*  Among  the  superstitions  which  prevailed  in  the  colonies,  during  the  early 
times  of  the  settlements,  there  seems  to  have  been  a  singular  one  about  phan 
tom  ships.  The  superstitious  fancies  of  men  are  always  apt  to  turn  upon  those 
objects  which  concern  their  daily  occupations.  The  solitary  ship,  which,  from 
year  to  year,  came  like  a  raven  in  the  wilderness,  bringing  to  the  inhabitants  of 
a  settlement  the  comforts  of  life  from  the  world  from  which  they  were  cut  off, 
was  apt  to  be  present  to  their  dreams,  whether  sleeping  or  waking.  The  acci 
dental  sight  from  shore  of  a  sail  gliding  along  the  horison  in  those,  as  yet  lonely 
seas,  was  apt  to  be  a  matter  of  much  talk  and  speculation.  There  is  mention 
made  in  one  of  the  early  New  England  writers  of  a  ship  navigated  by  witches, 
with  a  great  horse  that  stood  by  the  mainmast.  I  have  met  with  another 


426  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

"  Such,"  said  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  "  are  a  few  of  the  sto 
ries  written  down  by  Selyne  the  poet,  concerning  this  storm-ship ; 
which  he  affirms  to  have  brought  a  crew  of  mischievous  imps  into 
the  province,  from  some  old  ghost-ridden  country  of  Europe.  I 
could  give  you  a  host  more,  if  necessary ;  for  all  the  accidents 
that  so  often  befall  the  river  craft  in  the  highlands  are  said  to  be 
tricks  played  off  by  these  imps  of  the  Dunderberg ;  but  I  see  that 
you  are  nodding,  so  let  us  turn  in  for  the  night." — 

The  moon  had  just  raised  her  silver  horns  above  the  round 
back  of  Old  Bull  Hill,  and  lit  up  the  gray  rocks  and  shagged 
forests,  and  glittered  on  the  waving  bosom  of  the  river.  The 
night  dew  was  falling,  and  the  late  gloomy  mountains  began  to 
soften  and  put  on  a  gray  aerial  tint  in  the  dewy  light.  The 
hunters  stirred  the  fire,  and  threw  on  fresh  fuel  to  qualify  the 
damp  of  the  night  air.  They  then  prepared  a  bed  of  branches 
and  dry  leaves  under  a  ledge  of  rocks  for  Dolph ;  while  Antony 
Vander  Heyden,  wrapping  himself  in  a  huge  coat  of  skins,  stretched 
himself  before  the  fire.  It  was  some  time,  however,  before  Dolph 
could  close  his  eyes.  He  lay  contemplating  the  strange  scene 
before  him :  the  wild  woods  and  rocks  around ;  the  fire  throwing 
fitful  gleams  on  the  faces  of  the  sleeping  savages ;  and  the  Heer 

story,  somewhere,  of  a  ship  that  drove  on  shore,  in  fair,  sunny,  tranquil 
weather,  with  sails  all  set,  and  a  table  spread  in  the  cabin,  as  if  to  regale  a  num 
ber  of  guests,  yet  not  a  living  being  on  board.  These  phantom  ships  always 
sailed  in  the  eye  of  the  wind ;  or  ploughed  their  way  with  great  velocity, 
making  the  smooth  sea  foam  before  their  bows,  when  not  a  breath  of  air  was 
stirring. 

Moore  has  finely  wrought  up  one  of  these  legends  of  the  sea  into  a  little 
tale,  which,  within  a  small  compass,  contains  the  very  essence  of  this  species 
of  supernatural  fiction.  I  allude  to  his  Spectre  Ship,  bound  to  Deadman's 
Isle. 


DOLPH    HEYLIGER.  427 

Antony,  too,  who  so  singularly,  yet  vaguely,  reminded  him  of  the 
nightly  visitant  to  the  haunted  house.  Now  and  then  he  heard 
the  cry  of  some  animal  from  the  forest ;  or  the  hooting  of  the 
owl ;  or  the  notes  of  the  whip-poor-will,  which  seemed  to  abound 
among  these  solitudes  ;  or  the  splash  of  a  sturgeon,  leaping  out  of 
the  river,  and  falling  back  full  length  on  its  placid  surface.  He 
contrasted  all  this  with  his  accustomed  nest  in  the  garret  room  of 
the  doctor's  mansion  ;  where  the  only  sounds  at  night  were  the 
church  clock  telling  the  hour ;  the  drowsy  voice  of  the  watchman, 
drawling  out  all  was  well ;  the  deep  snoring  of  the  doctor's  club 
bed  nose  from  below  stairs  ;  or  the  cautious  labors  of  some  carpen 
ter  rat  gnawing  in  the  wainscot.  His  thoughts  then  wandered  to 
his  poor  old  mother :  what  would  she  think  of  his  mysterious  dis 
appearance — what  anxiety  and  distress  would  she  not  suffer? 
This  thought  would  continually  intrude  itself  to  mar  his  present 
enjoyment.  It  brought  with  it  a  feeling  of  pain  and  compunction, 
and  he  fell  asleep  with  the  tears  yet  standing  in  his  eyes. 

Were  this  a  mere  tale  of  fancy,  here  would  be  a  fine  opportu 
nity  for  weaving  in  strange  adventures  among  these  wild  moun 
tains,  and  roving  hunters ;  and,  after  involving  my  hero  in  a 
variety  of  perils  and  difficulties,  rescuing  him  from  them  all  by 
some  miraculous  contrivance ;  but  as  this  is  absolutely  a  true 
story,  I  must  content  myself  with  simple  facts,  and  keep  to  prob 
abilities. 

At  an  early  hour  of  the  next  day,  therefore,  after  a  hearty 
morning's  meal,  the  encampment  broke  up,  and  our  adventurers 
embarked  in  the  pinnace  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden.  There 
being  no  wind  for  the  sails,  the  Indians  rowed  her  gently  along, 
keeping  time  to  a  kind  of  chant  of  one  of  the  white  men.  The 
day  was  serene  and  beautiful ;  the  river  Avithout  a  wave ;  and  as 


428  BBACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

the  vessel  cleft  the  glassy  water,  it  left  a  long,  undulating  track 
behind.  The  crows,  who  had  scented  the  hunter's  banquet,  were 
already  gathering  and  hovering  in  the  air,  just  where  a  column  of 
thin,  blue  smoke,  rising  from  among  the  trees,  showed  the  place 
of  their  last  night's  quarters.  As  they  coasted  along  the  basis  of 
the  mountains,  the  Heer  Antony  pointed  out  to  Dolph  a  bald 
eagle,  the  sovereign  of  these  regions,  who  sat  perched  on  a  dry 
tree  that  projected  over  the  river ;  and,  with  eye  turned  upwards, 
seemed  to  be  drinking  in  the  splendor  of  the  morning  sun.  Their 
approach  disturbed  the  monarch's  meditations.  He  first  spread 
one  wing,  and  then  the  other ;  balanced  himself  for  a  moment ; 
and  then,  quitting  his  perch  with  dignified  composure,  wheeled 
slowly  over  their  heads.  Dolph  snatched  up  a  gun,  and  sent  a 
whistling  ball  after  him,  .that  cut  some  of  the  feathers  from  his 
wing ;  the  report  of  the  gun  leaped  sharply  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
awakened  a  thousand  echoes ;  but  the  monarch  of  the  air  sailed 
calmly  on,  ascending  higher  and  higher,  and  wheeling  widely  as 
he  ascended,  soaring  up  the  green  bosom  of  the  woody  mountain, 
until  he  disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a  beetling  precipice. 
Dolph  felt  in  a  manner  rebuked  by  this  proud  tranquillity,  and 
almost  reproached  himself  for  having  so  wantonly  insulted  this 
majestic  bird.  Heer  Antony  told  him,  laughing,  to  remember 
that  he  was  not  yet  out  of  the  territories  of  the  lord  of  the  Dun- 
derberg ;  and  an  old  Indian  shook  his  head,  and  observed,  that 
there  was  bad  luck  in  killing  an  eagle ;  the  hunter,  on  the  con 
trary,  should  always  leave  him  a  portion  of  his  spoils. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred  to  molest  them  on  their  voyage. 
They  passed  pleasantly  through  magnificent  and  lonely  scenes, 
until  they  came  to  where  Pollopol's  Island  lay,  like  a  floating 
bower,  at  the  extremity  of  the  highlands.  Here  they  landed,  un- 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEK.  429 

til  the  heat  of  the  day  should  abate,  or  a  breeze  spring  up,  that 
might  supersede  the  labor  of  the  oar.  Some  prepared  the  mid 
day  meal,  while  others  reposed  under  the  shade  of  the  trees,  in 
luxurious  summer  indolence,  looking  drowsily  forth  upon  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  On  the  one  side  were  the  highlands,  vast 
and  cragged,  feathered  to  the  top  with  forests,  and  throwing  their 
shadows  on  the  glassy  water  that  dimpled  at  their  feet.  On  the 
other  side  was  a  wide  expanse  of  the  river,  like  a  broad  lake,  with 
long  sunny  reaches,  and  green  headlands  ;  and  the  distant  line  of 
Shawangunk  mountains  waving  along  a  clear  horizon,  or  check 
ered  by  a  fleecy  cloud. 

But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  the  particulars  of  their  cruise  along 
the  river ;  this  vagrant,  amphibious  life,  careering  across  silver 
sheets  of  water ;  coasting  wild  woodland  shores ;  banqueting  on 
shady  promontories,  with  the  spreading  tree  over  head,  the  river 
curling  its  light  foam  to  one's  feet,  and  distant  mountain,  and 
rock,  and  tree,  and  snowy  cloud,  and  deep  blue  sky,  all  mingling 
in  summer  beauty  before  one ;  all  this,  though  never  cloying  in 
the  enjoyment,  would  be  but  tedious  in  narration. 

When  encamped  by  the  water-side,  some  of  the  party  would 
go  into  the  woods  and  hunt ;  others  would  fish :  sometimes  they 
would  amuse  themselves  by  shooting  at  a  mark,  by  leaping,  by 
running,  by  wrestling ;  and  Dolph  gained  great  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  by  his  skill  and  adroitness  in  all 
these  exercises ;  which  the  Heer  considered  as  the  highest  of 
manly  accomplishments. 

Thus  did  they  coast  jollily  on,  choosing  only  the  pleasant 
hours  for  voyaging ;  sometimes  in  the  cool  morning  dawn,  some 
times  in  the  sober  evening  twilight,  and  sometimes  when  the 
moonshine  spangled  the  crisp  curling  waves  that  whispered  along 


430  BRACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

the  sides  of  their  little  bark.  Never  had  Dolph  felt  so  completely 
in  his  element ;  never  had  he  met  with  any  thing  so  completely 
to  his  taste  as  this  wild,  hap-hazard  life.  He  was  the  very  man 
to  second  Antony  Vander  Heyden  in  his  rambling  humors,  and 
gained  continually  on  his  affections.  The  heart  of  the  old  bush 
whacker  yearned  toward  the  young  man,  Avho  seemed  thus  grow 
ing  up  in  his  own  likeness ;  and  as  they  approached  to  the  end 
of  their  voyage,  he  could  not  help  inquiring  a  little  into  his  his 
tory.  Dolph  frankly  told  him  his  course  of  life,  his  severe  medi 
cal  studies,  his  little  proficiency,  and  his  very  dubious  prospects. 
The  Heer  was  shocked  to  find  that  such  amazing  talents  and  ac 
complishments  were  to  be  cramped  and  buried  under  a  doctor's 
wig.  He  had  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the  healing  art,  having 
never  had  any  other  physician  than  the  butcher.  He  bore  a 
mortal  grudge  to  all  kinds  of  study  also,  ever  since  he  had  been 
flogged  about  an  unintelligible  book  when  he  was  a  boy.  But  to 
think  that  a  young  fellow  like  Dolph,  of  such  wonderful  abilities, 
who  could  shoot,  fish,  run,  jump,  ride,  and  wrestle,  should  be 
obliged  to  roll  pills,  and  administer  juleps  for  a  living — 'twas 
monstrous!  He  told  Dolph  never  to  despair,  but  to  "throw 
physic  to  the  dogs ; "  for  a  young  fellow  of  his  prodigious  talents 
could  never  fail  to  make  his  way.  "  As  you  seem  to  have  no  ac 
quaintance  in  Albany,"  said  Heer  Antony,  "  you  shall  go  home 
with  me,  and  remain  under  my  roof  until  you  can  look  about  you  ; 
and  in  the  mean  time  we  can  take  an  occasional  bout  at  shooting 
and  fishing,  for  it  is  a  pity  that  such  talents  should  lie  idle." 

Dolph,  who  was  at  the  mercy  of  chance,  was  not  hard  to  be 
persuaded.  Indeed,  on  turning  over  matters  in  his  mind,  which 
he  did  very  sagely  and  deliberately,  he  could  not  but  think  that 
Antony  Vander  Heyden  was,  "  somehow  or  other,"  connected  with 


DOLPH   HEYLIGER.  431 

the  story  of  the  Haunted  House ;  that  the  misadventure  in  the 
highlands,  which  had  thrown  them  so  strangely  together,  was, 
"  somehow  or  other,"  to  work  out  something  good :  in  short,  there 
is  nothing  so  convenient  as  this  "  somehow  or  other  "  way  of  ac 
commodating  one's  self  to  circumstances  ;  it  is  the  main  stay  of  a 
heedless  actor,  and  tardy  reasoner,  like  Dolph  Heyliger ;  and  he 
who  can,  in  this  loose,  easy  way,  link  foregone  evil  to  anticipated 
good,  possesses  a  secret  of  happiness  almost  equal  to  the  philoso 
pher's  stone. 

On  their  arrival  at  Albany,  the  sight  of  Dolph's  companion 
seemed  to  cause  universal  satisfaction.  Many  were  the  greetings 
at  the  river-side,  and  the  salutations  in  the  streets ;  the  dogs 
bounded  before  him  ;  the  boys  whooped  as  he  passed  ;  every  body 
seemed  to  know  Antony  Vander  Heyden.  Dolph  followed  on  in 
silence,  admiring  the  neatness  of  this  worthy  burgh  ;  for  in  those 
days  Albany  was  in  all  its  glory,  and  inhabited  almost  exclusively 
by  the  descendants  of  the  original  Dutch  settlers,  not  having  as 
yet  been  discovered  and  colonized  by  the  restless  people  of  New 
England.  Every  thing  was  quiet  and  orderly ;  every  thing  was 
conducted  calmly  and  leisurely ;  no  hurry,  no  bustle,  no  struggling 
and  scrambling  for  existence.  The  grass  grew  about  the  unpaved 
streets,  and  relieved  the  eye  by  its  refreshing  verdure.  Tall  syca 
mores  or  pendant  willows  shaded  the  houses,  with  caterpillars 
swinging,  in  long  silken  strings,  from  their  branches ;  or  moths, 
fluttering  about  like  coxcombs,  in  joy  at  their  gay  transformation. 
The  houses  were  built  in  the  old  Dutch  style,  with  the  gable  ends 
towards  the  street.  The  thrifty  housewife  was  seated  on  a  bench 
before  her  door,  in  close-crimped  cap,  bright  flowered  gown,  and 
white  apron,  busily  employed  in  knitting.  The  husband  smoked 
his  pipe  on  the  opposite  bench,  and  the  little  pet  negro  girl,  seated 


432  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

on  the  step  at  her  mistress's  feet,  was  industriously  plying  her 
needle.  The  swallows  sported  about  the  eaves,  or  skimmed  along 
the  streets,  and  brought  back  some  rich  booty  for  their  clamorous 
young ;  and  the  little  housekeeping  wren  flew  in  and  out  of  a 
Lilliputian  house,  or  an  old  hat  nailed  against  the  wall.  The 
cows  were  coming  home,  lowing  through  the  streets,  to  be  milked 
at  their  owner's  door;  and  if,  perchance,  there  were  any  loiterers,, 
some  negro  urchin,  with  a  long  goad,  was  gently  urging  them 
homewards. 

As  Dolph's  companion  passed  on,  he  received  a  tranquil  nod 
from  the  burghers,  and  a  friendly  word  from  their  wives ;  all  call 
ing  him  familiarly  by  the  name  of  Antony ;  for  it  was  the  custom 
in  this  stronghold  of  the  patriarchs,  where  they  had  all  grown  up 
together  from  childhood,  to  call  each  other  by  the  Christian  name. 
The  Heer  did  not  pause  to  have  his  usual  jokes  with  them,  for  he 
was  impatient  to  reach  his  home.  At  length  they  arrived  at  his 
mansion.  It  was  of  some  magnitude,  in  the  Dutch  style,  with 
large  iron  figures  on  the  gables,  that  gave  the  date  of  its  erec 
tion,  and  showed  that  it  had  been  built  in  the  earliest  times  of 
the  settlement. 

The  news  of  Heer  Antony's  arrival  had  preceded  him,  and 
the  whole  household  was  on  the  look-out.  A  crew  of  negroes, 
large  and  small,  had  collected  in  front  of  the  house  to  receive 
him.  The  old,  white-headed  ones,  who  had  grown  gray  in  his 
service,  grinned  for  joy,  and  made  many  awkward  bows  and 
grimaces,  and  the  little  ones  capered  about  his  knees.  But  the 
most  happy  being  in  the  household  was  a  little,  plump,  blooming 
lass,  his  only  child,  and  the  darling  of  his  heart.  She  came 
bounding  out  of  the  house  ;  but  the  sight  of  a  strange  young  man 
with  her  father  called  up,  for  a  moment,  all  the  bashfulness  of  a 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  433 

homebred  damsel.  Dolph  gazed  at  her  with  wonder  and  delight ; 
never  had  he  seen,  as  he  thought,  any  thing  so  comely  in  the 
shape  of  a  woman.  She  was  dressed  in  the  good  old  Dutch 
taste,  with  long  stays,  and  full,  short  petticoats,  so  admirably 
adapted  to  show  and  set  off  the  female  form.  Her  hair,  turned 
up  under  a  small  round  cap,  displayed  the  fairness  of  her  fore 
head  ;  she  had  fine,  blue,  laughing  eyes ;  a  trim,  slender  waist, 
and  soft  swell — but,  in  a  word,  she  was  a  little  Dutch  divinity ; 
and  Dolph,  who  never  stopped  half-way  in  a  new  impulse,  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  her. 

Dolph  was  now  ushered  into  the  house  with  a  hearty  wel 
come.  In  the  interior  was  a  mingled  display  of  Heer  Antony's 
taste  and  habits,  and  of  the  opulence  of  his  predecessors.  The 
chambers  were  furnished  with  good  old  mahogany ;  the  beaufets 
and  cupboards  glittered  with  embossed  silver,  and  painted  china. 
Over  the  parlor  fireplace  was,  as  usual,  the  family  coat  of  arms, 
painted  and  framed  ;  above  which  was  a  long  duck  fowling-piece, 
flanked  by  an  Indian  pouch,  and  a  powder-horn.  The  room  was 
decorated  with  many  Indian  articles,  such  as  pipes  of  peace, 
tomahawks,  scalping-knives,  hunting-pouches,  and  belts  of  wam 
pum  ;  and  there  were  various  kinds  of  fishing-tackle,  and  two  or 
three  fowling-pieces  in  the  corners.  The  household  affairs  seemed 
to  be  conducted,  in  some  measure,  after  the  master's  humors  ; 
corrected,  perhaps,  by  a  little  quiet  management  of  the  daugh 
ter's.  There  was  a  great  degree  of  patriarchal  simplicity,  and 
good-humored  indulgence.  The  negroes  came  into  the  room  with 
out  being  called,  merely  to  look  at  their  master,  and  hear  of  his 
adventures ;  they  would  stand  listening  at  the  door  until  he  had 
finished  a  story,  and  then  go  off  on  a  broad  grin,  to  repeat  it  in 
the  kitchen.  A  couple  of  pet  negro  children  were  playing  about 
19 


434  BKACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

the  floor  with  the  dogs,  and  sharing  with  them  their  hread  and 
butter.  All  the  domestics  looked  hearty  and  happy ;  and  when 
the  table  was  set  for  the  evening  repast,  the  variety  and  abun 
dance  of  good  household  luxuries  bore  testimony  to  the  open- 
handed  liberality  of  the  Heer,  and  the  notable  housewifery  of  his 
daughter. 

In  the  evening  there  dropped  in  several  of  the  worthies  of 
the  place,  the  Van  Eenssellaers,  and  the  Gansevoorts,  and  the 
Kosebooms,  and  others  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden's  intimates,  to 
hear  an  account  of  his  expedition ;  for  he  was  the  Sinbad  of 
Albany,  and  his  exploits  and  adventures  were  favorite  topics  of 
conversation  among  the  inhabitants.  While  these  sat  gossiping 
together  about  the  door  of  the  hall,  and  telling  long  twilight 
stories,  Dolph  was  cozily  seated,  entertaining  the  daughter  on  a 
window-bench.  He  had  already  got  on  intimate  terms ;  for  those 
were  not  times  of  false  reserve  and  idle  ceremony ;  and,  besides, 
there  is  something  wonderfully  propitious  to  a  lover's  suit,  in  the 
delightful  dusk  of  a  long  summer  evening ;  it  gives  courage  to 
the  most  timid  tongue,  and  hides  the  blushes  of  the  bashful. 
The  stars  alone  twinkled  brightly ;  and  now  and  then  a  firefly 
streamed  his  transient  light  before  the  window,  or,  wandering 
into  the  room,  flew  gleaming  about  the  ceiling. 

What  Dolph  whispered  in  her  ear  that  long  summer  evening, 
it  is  impossible  to  say ;  his  words  were  so  low  and  indistinct,  that 
they  never  reached  the  ear  of  the  historian.  It  is  probable,  how 
ever,  that  they  were  to  the  purpose ;  for  he  had  a  natural  talent 
at  pleasing  the  sex,  and  was  never  long  in  company  with  a  petti 
coat,  without  paying  proper  court  to  it.  In  the  mean  time  the 
visitors,  one  by  one,  departed ;  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  who  had 
fairly  talked  himself  silent,  sat  nodding  alone  in  his  chair  by  the 


DOLPH   HETLIGER.  435 

door,  when  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  hearty  salute  with 
which  Dolph  Heyliger  had  unguardedly  rounded  off  one  of  his 
periods,  and  which  echoed  through  the  still  chamber  like  the  re 
port  of  a  pistol.  The  Heer  started  up,  rubbed  his  eyes,  called 
for  lights,  and  observed,  that  it  was  high  time  to  go  to  bed ; 
though,  on  parting  for  the  night,  he  squeezed  Dolph  heartily  by 
the  hand,  looked  kindly  in  his  face,  and  shook  his  head  know 
ingly  ;  for  the  Heer  well  remembered  what  he  himself  had  been 
at  the  youngster's  age. 

The  chamber  in  Avhich  our  hero  was  lodged  was  spacious,  and 
panelled  with  oak.  It  was  furnished  with  clothes-presses,  and 
mighty  chests  of  drawers,  Avell  waxed,  and  glittering  with  brass 
ornaments.  These  contained  ample  stock  of  family  linen ;  for 
the  Dutch  housewives  had  always  a  laudable  pride  in  showing  off 
their  household  treasures  to  strangers. 

Dolph's  mind,  however,  was  too  full  to  take  particular  note  of 
the  objects  around  him :  yet  he  could  not  help  continually  com 
paring  the  free,  open-hearted  cheeriness  of  this  establishment, 
with  the  starveling,  sordid,  joyless  housekeeping,  at  Doctor  Knip- 
perhausen's.  Still  something  marred  the  enjoyment ;  the  idea 
that  he  must  take  leave  of  his  hearty  host,  and  pretty  hostess,  and 
cast  himself  once  more  adrift  upon  the  world.  To  linger  here 
would  be  folly :  he  should  only  get  deeper  in  love :  and  for  a 
poor  varlet,  like  himself,  to  aspire  to  the  daughter  of  the  great 
Heer  Vander  Heyden — it  was  madness  to  think  of  such  a  thing ! 
The  very  kindness  that  the  girl  had  shown  towards  him  prompted 
him,  on  reflection,  to  hasten  his  departure  ;  it  would  be  a  poor  re 
turn  for  the  frank  hospitality  of  his  host,  to  entangle  his  daugh 
ter's  heart  in  an  injudicious  attachment.  In  a  word,  Dolph  was 
like  many  other  young  reasoners,  of  exceeding  good  hearts,  and 


436  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

giddy  heads ;  who  think  after  they  act,  and  act  differently  from 
what  they  think  ;  who  make  excellent  determinations  over  night, 
and  forget  to  keep  them  the  next  morning. 

"  This  is  a  fine  conclusion,  truly,  of  my  voyage,"  said  he,  as 
he  almost  huried  himself  in  a  sumptuous  feather-hed,  and  drew 
the  fresh  white  sheets  up  to  his  chin.  "  Here  am  I,  instead  of 
finding  a  bag  of  money  to  carry  home,  launched  in  a  strange 
place,  with  scarcely  a  stiver  in  my  pocket ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
have  jumped  ashore  up  to  my  very  ears  in  love  into  the  bargain. 
However,"  added  he,  after  some  pause,  stretching  himself,  and 
turning  himself  in  bed,  "  I'm  in  good  quarters  for  the  present,  at 
least ;  so  I'll  e'en  enjoy  the  present  moment,  and  let  the  next 
take  care  of  itself ;  I  dare  say  all  will  work  out,  '  somehow  or 
other,'  for  the  best." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  reached  out  his  hand  to  extinguish 
the  candle,  when  he  was  suddenly  struck  with  astonishment  and 
dismay,  for  he  thought  he  beheld  the  phantom  of  the  haunted 
house,  staring  on  him  from  a  dusky  part  .of  the  chamber.  A 
second  look  reassured  him,  as  he  perceived  that  what  he  had  taken 
for  the  spectre  was,  in  fact,  nothing  but  a  Flemish  portrait,  hang 
ing  in  a  shadowy  corner,  just  behind  a  clothes-press.  It  was.  how 
ever,  the  precise  representation  of  his  nightly  visitor.  The  same 
cloak  and  belted  jerkin,  the  same  grizzled  beard  and  fixed  eye, 
the  same  broad  slouched  hat,  with  a  feather  hanging  over  one 
side.  Dolph  now  called  to  mind  the  resemblance  he  had  fre 
quently  remarked  between  his  host  and  the  old  man  of  the  haunted 
house ;  and  was  fully  convinced  they  were  in  some  way  connected, 
and  that  some  especial  destiny  had  governed  his  voyage.  He  lay 
gazing  on  the  portrait  with  almost  as  much  awe  as  he  had  gazed 
on  the  ghostly  original,  until  the  shrill  house-clock  warned  him  of 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEE.  437 

the  lateness  of  the  hour.  He  put  out  the  light ;  but  remained  for 
a  long  time  turning  over  these  curious  circumstances  and  coinci 
dences  in  his  mind,  until  he  fell  asleep.  His  dreams  partook  of 
the  nature  of  his  waking  thoughts.  He  fancied  that  he  still  lay 
gazing  on  the  picture,  until,  by  degrees,  it  became  animated  ;  that 
the  figure  descended  from  the  wall,  and  walked  out  of  the  room ; 
that  he  followed  it,  and  found  himself  by  the  well,  to  which  the 
old  man  pointed,  smiled  on  him,  and  disappeared. 

In  the  morning,  when  he  waked,  he  found  his  host  standing 
by  his  bedside,  who  gave  him  a  hearty  morning's  salutation,  and . 
asked  him  how  he  had  slept.  Dolph  answered  cheerily ;  but  took 
occasion  to  inquire  about  the  portrait  that  hung  against  the  wall. 
"  Ah,"  said  Heer  Antony,  "  that's  a  portrait  of  old  Killian  Van- 
der  Spiegel,  once  a  burgomaster  of  Amsterdam,  who,  on  some 
popular  troubles,  abandoned  Holland,  and  came  over  to  the  pro 
vince  during  the  government  of  Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  was  my 
ancestor  by  the  mother's  side,  and  an  old  miserly  curmudgeon  he 
was.  When  the  English  took  possession  of  New  Amsterdam,  in 
1664,  he  retired  into  the  country.  He  fell  into  a  melancholy, 
apprehending  that  his  Avealth  would  be  taken  from  him,  and  he 
come  to  beggary.  He  turned  all  his  property  into  cash,  and  used 
to  hide  it  away.  He  was  for  a  year  or  two  concealed  in  various 
places,  fancying  himself  sought  after  by  the  English,  to  strip 
him  of  his  wealth ;  and  finally  he  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  one 
morning,  without  any  one  being  able  to  discover  where  he  had 
concealed  the  greater  part  of  his  money." 

When  his  host  had  left  the  room,  Dolph  remained  for  some 
time  lost  in  thought.  His  whole  mind  was  occupied  by  what  he 
had  heard.  Vander  Spiegel  was  his  mother's  family  name  ;  and 
he  recollected  to  have  heard  her  speak  of  this  very  Killian  Van- 


438  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

der  Spiegel  as  one  of  her  ancestors.  He  had  heard  her  say,  too, 
that  her  father  was  Killian's  rightful  heir,  only  that  the  old  man 
died  without  leaving  any  thing  to  he  inherited.  It  now  appeared 
that  Heer  Antony  was  likewise  a  descendant,  and  perhaps  an  heir 
also,  of  this  poor  rich  man ;  and  that  thus  the  Heyligers  and  the 
Vander  Heydens  were  remotely  connected.  "  What,"  thought  he, 
"  if  after  all,  this  is  the  interpretation  of  my  dream,  that  this  is 
the  way  I  am  to  make  my  fortune  by  this  voyage  to  Albany,  and 
that  I  am  to  find  the  old  man's  hidden  wealth  in  the  bottom  of  that 
•well  ?  But  what  an  odd  roundabout  mode  of  communicating  the 
matter !  Why  the  plague  could  not  the  old  goblin  have  told  me 
about  the  well  at  once,  without  sending  me  all  the  way  to  Albany, 
to  hear  a  story  that  was  to  send  me  all  the  way  back  again  ?  " 

These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  while  he  was  dress 
ing.  He  descended  the  stairs,  full  of  perplexity,  when  the  bright 
face  of  Marie  Vander  Heyden  suddenly  beamed  in  smiles  upon 
him,  and  seemed  to  give  him  a  clue  to  the  whole  mystery.  "  After 
all,"  thought  he,  "  the  old  goblin  is  in  the  right.  If  I  am  to  get 
his  wealth,  he  means  that  I  shall  marry  his  pretty  descendant ; 
thus  both  branches  of  the  family  will  again  be  united,  and  the 
property  go  on  in  the  proper  channel." 

No  sooner  did  this  idea  enter  his  head,  than  it  carried  con 
viction  with  it.  He  was  now  all  impatience  to  hurry  back  and 
secure  the  treasure,  which,  he  did  not  doubt,  lay  at  the  bottom  of 
the  well,  and  which  he  feared  every  moment  might  be  discovered 
by  some  other  person.  "  Who  knows,"  thought  he,  "  but  this 
night-walking  old  fellow  of  the  haunted  house  may  be  in  the 
habit  of  haunting  every  visitor,  and  may  give  a  hint  to  some 
shrewder  fellow  than  myself,  who  will  take  a  shorter  cut  to  the 
well  than  by  the  way  of  Albany?  "  He  wished  a  thousand  times 


DOLPH   HEYLIGER.  439 

that  the  babbling  old  ghost  was  laid  in  the  Eed  Sea,  and  his 
rambling  portrait  with  him.  He  was  in  a  perfect  fever  to  depart. 
Two  or  three  days  elapsed  before  any  opportunity  presented  for 
returning  down  the  river.  They  were  ages  to  Dolph,  notwith 
standing  that  he  was  basking  in  the  smiles  of  the  pretty  Marie, 
and  daily  getting  more  and  more  enamored. 

At  length  the  very  sloop  from  which  he  had  been  knocked 
overboard,  prepared  to  make  sail.  Dolph  made  an  awkward 
apology  to  his  host  for  his  sudden  departure.  Antony  Vander 
Heyden  was  sorely  astonished.  He  had  concerted  half  a  dozen 
excursions  into  the  wilderness ;  and  his  Indians  were  actually 
preparing  for  a  grand  expedition  to  one  of  the  lakes.  He  took 
Dolph  aside,  and  exerted  his  eloquence  to  get  him  to  abandon  all 
thoughts  of  business  and  to  remain  with  him,  but  in  vain ;  and 
he  at  length  gave  up  the  attempt,  observing,  "  that  it  was  a  thou 
sand  pities  so  fine  a  young  man  should  throw  himself  away." 
Heer  Antony,  however,  gave  him  a  hearty  shake  by  the  hand  at 
parting,  with  a  favorite  fowling-piece,  and  an  invitation  to  come 
to  his  house  whenever  he  revisited  Albany.  The  pretty  little 
Marie  said  nothing ;  but  as  he  gave  her  a  farewell  kiss,  her  dim 
pled  cheek  turned  pale,  and  a  tear  stood  in  her  eye. 

Dolph  sprang  lightly  on  board  of  the  vessel.  They  hoisted 
sail ;  the  wind  was  fair ;  they  soon  lost  sight  of  Albany,  its  green 
hills,  and  embowered  islands.  They  were  wafted  gayly  past  the 
Kaatskill  mountains,  whose  fairy  heights  were  bright  and  cloud 
less.  They  passed  prosperously  through  the  highlands,  without 
any  molestation  from  the  Dunderberg  goblin  and  his  crew ;  they 
swept  on  across  Haverstraw  Bay,  and  by  Croton  Point,  and 
through  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  under  the  Pallisadoes,  until,  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  they  saw  the  promontory  of  Ho- 


440  BKACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

boken  hanging  like  a  cloud  in  the  air ;  and,  shortly  after,  the 
roofs  of  the  Manhattoes  rising  out  of  the  water. 

Dolph's  first  care  was  to  repair  to  his  mother's  house ;  for  he 
was  continually  goaded  by  the  idea  of  the  uneasiness  she  must 
experience  on  his  account.  He  was  puzzling  his  brains,  as  he 
went  along,  to  think  how  he  should  account  for  his  absence,  with 
out  betraying  thu  secrets  of  the  haunted  house.  In  the  midst  of 
these  cogitations,  he  entered  the  street  in  which  his  mother's 
house  was  situated,  when  he  was  thunderstruck  at  beholding  it  a 
heap  of  ruins. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  great  fire,  which  had  destroyed 
several  large  houses,  and  the  humble  dwelling  of  poor  Dame  Hey- 
ligcr  had  been  involved  in  the  conflagration.  The  walls  were  not 
so  completely  destroyed,  but  that  Dolph  could  distinguish  some 
traces  of  the  scene  of  his  childhood.  The  fireplace,  about  which 
he  had  often  played,  still  remained,  ornamented  with  Dutch  tiles, 
illustrating  passages  in  Bible  history,  on  which  he  had  many  a 
time  gazed  with  admiration.  Among  the  rubbish  lay  the  wreck 
of  the  good  dame's  elbow-chair,  from  which  she  had  given  him  so 
many  a  wholesome  precept ;  and  hard  by  it  was  the  family  Bible, 
with  brass  clasps ;  now,  alas !  reduced  almost  to  a  cinder. 

For  a  moment  Dolph  was  overcome  by  this  dismal  sight,  for 
•he  was  seized  with  the  fear  that  his  mother  had  perished  in  the 
flames.  He  was  relieved,  however,  from  this  horrible  apprehen 
sion,  by  one  of  the  neighbors,  who  happened  to  come  by  and  in 
formed  him  that  his  mother  was  yet  alive. 

The  good  woman  had,  indeed,  lost  every  thing  by  this  un 
looked-for  calamity ;  for  the  populace  had  been  so  intent  upon 
saving  the  fine  furniture  of  her  rich  neighbors,  that  the  little  ten 
ement,  and  the  little  all  of  poor  Dame  Heyliger,  had  been  suffered 


DOLPH   HEYLIGEK.  441 

to  consume  without  interruption ;  nay,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
gallant  assistance  of  her  old  crony,  Peter  de  Groodt,  the  worthy 
dame  and  her  cat  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  their  habitation. 

As  it  was,  she  had  been  overcome  with  fright  and  affliction, 
and  lay  ill  in  body  and  sick  at  heart.  The  public,  however,  had 
showed  her  its  wonted  kindness.  The  furniture  of  her  rich 
neighbors  being,  as  far  as  possible,  rescued  from  the  flames  ;  them 
selves  duly  and  ceremoniously  visited  and  condoled  with  on  the 
injury  of  their  property,  and  their  ladies  commiserated  on  the 
agitation  of  their  nerves ;  the  public,  at  length,  began  to  recollect 
something  about  poor  Dame  Heyliger.  She  forthwith  became 
again  a  subject  of  universal  sympathy ;  every  body  pitied  her 
more  than  ever ;  and  if  pity  could  but  have  been  coined  into 
cash — good  Lord !  how  rich  she  would  have  been  ! 

It  was  now  determined,  in  good  earnest,  that  something 
ought  to  be  done  for  her  without  delay.  The  Dominie,  therefore, 
put  up  prayers  for  her  on  Sunday,  in  which  all  the  congregation 
joined  most  heartily.  Even  Cobus  Groesbeek,  the  alderman,  and 
Mynheer  Milledollar,  the  great  Dutch  merchant,  stood  up  in  their 
pews,  and  did  not  spare  their  voices  on  the  occasion  ;  and  it  was 
thought  the  prayers  of  such  great  men  could  not  but  have  their 
due  weight.  Doctor  Knipperhausen,  too,  visited  her  professionally, 
and  gave  her  abundance  of  advice  gratis,  and  was  universally 
lauded  for  his  charity.  As  to  her  old  friend,  Peter  de  Groodt,  he 
was  a  poor  man,  whose  pity,  and  prayers,  and  advice,  could  be  of 
but  little  avail,  so  he  gave  her  all  that  was  in  his  power — he  gave 
her  shelter. 

To  the  humble  dwelling  of  Peter  de  Groodt,  then,  did  Dolph 
turn  his  steps.  On  his  way  thither,  he  recalled  all  the  tenderness 
and  kindness  of  his  simple-hearted  parent,  her  indulgence  of  his 
19* 


442  BBACEBEIDGE   HAUL. 

errors,  her  blindness  to  his  faults ;  and  then  he  bethought  himself 
of  his  own  idle,  harum-scarum  life.  "  I've  been  a  sad  scape 
grace,"  said  Dolph,  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully.  "  I've  been  a 
complete  sink-pocket,  that's  the  truth  of  it. — But,"  added  he 
briskly,  and  clasping  his  hands,  "  only  let  her  live — only  let  her 
live — and  I'll  show  myself  indeed  a  son  !  " 

As  Dolph  approached  the  house  he  met  Peter  de  Groodt  com 
ing  out  of  it.  The  old  man  started  back  aghast,  doubting 
whether  it  was  not  a  ghost  that  stood  before  him.  It  being  bright 
daylight,  however,  Peter  soon  plucked  up  heart,  satisfied  that  no 
ghost  dare  show  his  face  in  such  clear  sunshine.  Dolph  now 
learned  from  the  worthy  sexton  the  consternation  and  rumor  to 
which  his  mysterious  disappearance  had  given  rise.  It  had  been 
universally  believed  that  he  had  been  spirited  away  by  those  hob 
goblin  gentry  that  infested  the  haunted  house  ;  and  old  Abraham 
Vandozer,  who  lived  by  the  great  buttonwood  trees,  near  the 
three-mile  stone,  affirmed,  that  he  had  heard  a  terrible  noise  in 
the  air,  as  he  was  going  home  late  at  night,  which  seemed  just  as 
if  a  flock  of  wild-geese  were  overhead,  passing  off  towards  the 
northward.  The  haunted  house  was,  in  consequence,  looked  upon 
with  ten  times  more  awe  than  ever ;  nobody  would  venture  to 
pass  a  night  in  it  for  the  world,  and  even  the  doctor  had  ceased 
to  make  his  expeditions  to  it  in  the  daytime. 

It  required  some  preparation  before  Dolph's  return  could  be 
made  known  to  his  mother,  the  poor  soul  having  bewailed  him  as 
lost ;  and  her  spirits  having  been  sorely  broken  down  by  a  num 
ber  of  comforters,  who  daily  cheered  her  with  stories  of  ghosts, 
and  of  people  carried  away  by  the  devil.  He  found  her  confined 
to  her  bed,  with  the  other  member  of  the  Heyliger  family,  the 
good  dame's  cat,  purring  beside  her,  but  sadly  singed,  and  utterly 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  443 

despoiled  of  those  whiskers  which  were  the  glory  of  her  physi 
ognomy.  The  poor  woman  threw  her  arms  about  Dolph's  neck : 
"  My  boy !  my  boy !  art  thou  still  alive  1 "  For  a  time  she  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  all  her  losses  and  troubles  in  her  joy  at  his 
return.  Even  the  sage  grimalkin  showed  indubitable  signs  of  joy 
at  the  return  of  the  youngster.  She  saw,  perhaps,  that  they  were 
a  forlorn  and  undone  family,  and  felt  a  touch  of  that  kindliness 
which  fellow-sufferers  only  know.  But,  in  truth,  cats  are  a  slan 
dered  people ;  they  have  more  affection  in  them  than  the  world 
commonly  gives  them  credit  for. 

The  good  dame's  eyes  glistened  as  she  saw  one  being,  at  least, 
beside  herself,  rejoiced  at  her  son's  return.  "  Tib  knows  thee ! 
poor  dumb  beast !  "  said  she,  smoothing  down  the  mottled  coat  of 
her  favorite ;  then  recollecting  herself,  with  a  melancholy  shake 
of  the  head,  "  Ah,  my  poor  Dolph !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  thy  mother 
can  help  thee  no  longer !  She  can  no  longer  help  herself !  What 
will  become  of  thee,  my  poor  boy !  " 

"  Mother,"  said  Dolph,  "  don't  talk  in  that  strain ;  I've  been 
too  long  a  charge  upon  you ;  it's  now  my -part  to  take  care  of  you 
in  your  old  days.  Come  !  be  of  good  cheer !  you,  and  I,  and  Tib 
will  all  see  better  days.  I'm  here,  you  see,  young,  and  sound, 
and  hearty ;  then  don't  let  us  despair ;  I  dare  say  things  will  all, 
somehow  or  other,  turn  out  for  the  best." 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  with  the  Heyliger  family,  the 
news  was  carried  to  Doctor  Knipperhausen,  of  the  safe  return  of 
his  disciple.  The  little  doctor  scarce  knew  whether  to  rejoice  or 
be  sorry  at  the  tidings.  He  was  happy  at  having  the  foul  reports 
which  had  prevailed  concerning  his  country  mansion  thus  dis 
proved  ;  but  he  grieved  at  having  his  disciple,  of  whom  he  had 
supposed  himself  fairly  disencumbered,  thus  drifting  back,  a 


444  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

heavy  charge  upon  his  hands.  While  balancing  between  these 
two  feelings,  he  was  determined  by  the  counsels  of  Fran  Ilsy,  who 
advised  him  to  take  advantage  of  the  truant  absence  of  the 
youngster,  and  shut  the  door  upon  him  for  ever. 

At  the  hour  of  bed-time,  therefore,  when  it  was  supposed  the 
recreant  disciple  would  seek  his  old  quarters,  every  thing  was  pre 
pared  for  his  reception.  Dolph,  having  talked  his  mother  into  a 
state  of  tranquillity,  sought  the  mansion  of  his  quondam  master, 
and  raised  the  knocker  with  a  faltering  hand.  Scarcely,  how 
ever,  had  it  given  a  dubious  rap,  when  the  doctor's  head,  in  a  red 
night-cap,  popped  out  of  one  window,  and  the  housekeeper's,  in  a 
white  night-cap,  out  of  another.  He  was  now  greeted  with  a 
tremendous  volley  of  hard  names  and  hard  language,  mingled 
with  invaluable  pieces  of  advice,  such  as  are  seldom  ventured  to 
be  given  excepting  to  a  friend  in  distress,  or  a  culprit  at  the  bar. 
In  a  few  moments,  npt  a  window  in  the  street  but  had  its  partic 
ular  night-cap,  listening  to  the  shrill  treble  of  Frau  Ilsy,  and  the 
guttural  croaking  of  Dr.  Knipperhausen  ;  and  the  word  went  from 
window  to  window,  "  Ah !  here's  Dolph  Heyliger  come  back,  and 
at  his  old  pranks  again."  In  short,  poor  Dolph  found  he  was 
likely  to  get  nothing  from  the  doctor  but  good  advice ;  a  com 
modity  so  abundant  as  even  to  be  thrown  out  of  the  window ;  so 
he  was  fain  to  beat  a  retreat,  and  take  up  his  quarters  for  the 
night  under  the  lowly  roof  of  honest  Peter  de  Groodt. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  Dolph  was  out  at  the 
haunted  house.  Every  thing  looked  just  as  he  had  left  it.  The 
fields  were  grass-grown  and  matted,  and  appeared  as  if  nobody 
had  traversed  them  since  his  departure.  With  palpitating  heart 
he  hastened  to  the  well.  He  looked  down  into  it,  and  saw  that  it 
was  of  great  depth,  with  water  at  the  bottom.  He  had  provided 


DOLPH    HEYLIGEE.  445 

himself  with  a  strong  line,  such  as  the  fishermen  use  on  the  banks 
of  Newfoundland.  At  the  end  was  a  heavy  plummet  and  a  large 
fish-hook.  With  this  he  began  to  sound  the  bottom  of  the  well, 
and  to  angle  about  in  the  water.  The  water  was  of  some  depth ; 
there  was  also  much  rubbish,  stones  from  the  top  having  fallen  in. 
Several  times  his  hook  got  entangled,  and  he  came  near  breaking 
his  line.  Now  and  then,  too,  he  hauled  up  mere  trash,  such  as 
the  skull  of  a  horse,  an  iron  hoop,  and  a  shattered  iron-bound 
bucket.  He  had  now  been  several  hours  employed  without  find 
ing  any  thing  to  repay  his  trouble,  or  to  encourage  him  to  pro 
ceed.  He  began  to  think  himself  a  great  fool,  to  be  thus  decoyed 
into  a  wild-goose-chase  by  mere  dreams,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
throwing  line  and  all  into  the  well,  and  giving  up  all  further 
angling. 

"  One  more  cast  of  the  line,"  said  he,  "  and  that  shall  be  the 
last."  As  he  sounded,  he  felt  the  plummet  slip,  as  it  were,  through 
the  interstices  of  loose  stones  ;  and  as  he  drew  back  the  line,  he 
felt  that  the  hook  had  taken  hold  of  something  heavy.  He  had 
to  manage  his  line  with  great  caution,  lest  it  should  be  broken  by 
the  strain  upon  it.  By  degrees  the  rubbish  which  lay  upon  the 
article  he  had  hooked  gave  way ;  he  drew  it  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  what  was  his  rapture  at  seeing  something  like  silver 
glittering  at  the  end  of  his  line !  Almost  breathless  Avith  anxi 
ety,  he  drew  it  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  well,  surprised  at  its  great 
weight,  and  fearing  every  instant  that  his  hook  would  slip  from 
its  hold,  and  his  prize  tumble  again  to  the  bottom.  At  length  he 
landed  it  safe  beside  the  well.  It  was  a  great  silver  porringer, 
of  an  ancient  form,  richly  embossed,  and  with  armorial  bearings 
engraved  on  its  side,  similar  to  those  over  his  mother's  mantel 
piece.  The  lid  was  fastened  down  by  several  twists  of  wire ; 


446  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Dolph  loosened  them  with  a  trembling  hand,  and,  on  lifting  the 
lid,  behold !  the  vessel  was  filled  with  broad  golden  pieces,  of  a 
coinage  which  he  had  never  seen  before !  It  was  evident  he  had 
lit  on  the  place  where  Killian  Vander  Spiegel  had  concealed  his 
treasure. 

Fearful  of  being  seen  by  some  straggler,  he  cautiously  retired, 
and  buried  his  pot  of  money  in  a  secret  place.  He  now  spread 
terrible  stories  about  the  haunted  house,  and  deterred  every  one 
from  aproaching  it,  while  he  made  frequent  visits  to  it  in  stormy 
days,  when  no  one  was  stirring  in  the  neighboring  fields  ;  though, 
to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  care  to  venture  there  in  the  dark. 
For  once  in  his  life  he  was  diligent  and  industrious,  and  followed 
up  his  new  trade  of  angling  with  such  perseverance  and  success, 
that  in  a  little  while  he  had  hooked  up  wealth  enough  to  make 
him,  in  those  moderate  days,  a  rich  burgher  for  life. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  detail  minutely  the  rest  of  this  story. 
To  tell  how  he  gradually  managed  to  bring  his  property  into  use 
without  exciting  surprise  and  inquiry — how  he  satisfied  all  scru 
ples  with  regard  to  retaining  the  property,  and  at  the  same  time 
gratified  his  own  feelings,  by  marrying  the  pretty  Marie  Vander 
Heyden — and  how  he  and  Heer  Antony  had  many  a  merry  and 
roving  expedition  together. 

I  must  not  omit  to  say,  however,  that  Dolph  took  his  mother 
home  to  live  with  him,  and  cherished  her  in  her  old  days.  The 
good  dame,  too,  had  the  satisfaction  of  no  longer  hearing  her  son 
made  the  theme  of  censure ;  on  the  contrary,  he  grew  daily  in 
public  esteem  ;  every  body  spoke  well  of  him  and  his  wines  ;  and 
the  lordliest  burgomaster  was  never  kown  to  decline  his  invitation 
to  dinner.  Dolph  often  related,  at  his  own  table,  the  wicked  pranks 
which  had  once  been  the  abhorrence  of  the  town ;  but  they  were 


DOLPH    HEYLIGER.  447 

now  considered  excellent  jokes,  and  the  gravest  dignitary  was. 
fain  to  hold  his  sides  when  listening  to  them.  No  one  was  more 
struck  with  Dolph's  increasing  merit  than  his  old  master  the  doc 
tor  ;  and  so  forgiving  was  Dolph,  that  he  absolutely  employed  the 
doctor  as  his  family  physician,  only  taking  care  that  his  prescrip 
tions  should  be  always  thrown  out  of  the  window.  His  mother 
had  often  her  junto  of  old  cronies  to  take  a  snug  cup  of  tea  with 
her  in  her  comfortable  little  parlor ;  and  Peter  de  Groodt,  as  he 
sat  by  the  fireside,  with  one  of  her  grandchildren  on  his  knee, 
would  many  a  time  congratulate  her  upon  her  son  turning  out  so 
great  a  man  ;  upon  which  the  good  old  soul  would  wag  her  head 
with  exultation,  and  exclaim,  "  Ah,  neighbor,  neighbor  !  did  I  not 
say  that  Dolph  would  one  day  or  other  hold  up  his  head  with  the 
best  of  them  ?  " 

Thus  did  Dolph  Heyliger  go  on,  cheerily  and  prosperously, 
growing  merrier  as  he  grew  older  and  wiser,  and  completely  falsi 
fying  the  old  proverb  about  money  got  over  the  devil's  back  ;  for 
he  made  good  use  of  his  wealth,  and  became  a  distinguished  citi 
zen,  and  a  valuable  member  of  the  community.  He  was  a  great 
promoter  of  public  institutions,  such  as  beef-steak  societies  and 
catch-clubs.  He  presided  at  all  public  dinners,  and  was  the  first 
that  introduced  turtle  from  the  West  Indies.  He  improved  the 
breed  of  race-horses  and  game-cocks,  and  was  so  great  a  patron 
of  modest  merit,  that  any  one  who  could  sing  a  good  song,  or  tell 
a  good  story,  was  sure  to  find  a  place  at  his  table. 

He  was  a  member,  too,  of  the  corporation,  made  several  laws 
for  the  protection  of  game  and  oysters,  and  bequeathed  to  the 
board  a  large  silver  punch-bowl,  made  out  of  the  identical  porrin 
ger  before  mentioned,  and  which  is  in  the  possession  of  the  cor 
poration  to  this  very  day. 


448  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

Finally,  he  died,  in  a  florid  old  age,  of  an  apoplexy  at  a  cor 
poration  feast,  and  was  buried  with  great  honors  in  the  yard  of 
the  little  Dutch  church  in  Garden-street,  where  his  tombstone 
may  still  be  seen,  with  a  modest  epitaph  in  Dutch,  by  his  friend 
Mynheer  Justus  Benson,  an  ancient  and  excellent  poet  of  the 
province. 

The  foregoing  tale  rests  on  better  authority  than  most  tales  of 
the  kind,  as  I  have  it  at  second  hand  from  the  lips  of  Dolph  Hey- 
liger  himself.  He  never  related  it  till  towards  the  latter  part  of 
his  life,  and  then  in  great  confidence,  (for  he  was  very  discreet,) 
to  a  few  of  his  particular  cronies  at  his  own  table,  over  a  super 
numerary  bowl  of  punch ;  and,  strange  as  the  hobgoblin  parts  of 
the  story  may  seem,  there  never  was  a  single  doubt  expressed  on 
the  subject  by  any  of  his  guests.  It  may  not  be  amiss,  before 
concluding,  to  observe  that,  in  addition  to  his  other  accomplish 
ments,  Dolph  Heyliger  was  noted  for  being  the  ablest  drawer  of 
the  long-bow  in  the  whole  province. 


THE  WEDDING. 

No  more,  no  more,  much  honor  aye  hetide 
The  lofty  bridegroom,  and  the  lovely  bride ; 
That  all  of  their  succeeding  days  may  say, 
Each  day  appears  like  to  a  wedding  day. 

BEAITHWAITK. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  doubts  and  the  demurs  of  Lady  Lillycraft, 
and  all  the  grave  objections  conjured  up  against  the  month  of 
May,  the  wedding  has  at  length  happily  taken  place.  It  was 
celebrated  at  the  village  church,  in  presence  of  a  numerous  com 
pany  of  relatives  and  friends,  and  many  of  the  tenantry.  The 
Squire  must  needs  have  something  of  the  old  ceremonies  observed 
on  the  occasion ;  so  at  the  gate  of  the  church-yard,  several  little 
girls  of  the  village,  dressed  in  white,  were  in  readiness  with  bas 
kets  of  flowers,  which  they  strewed  before  the  bride ;  and  the 
butler  bore  before  her  the  bride-cup,  a  great  silver  embossed 
bowl,  one  of  the  family  relics  from  the  days  of  the  hard  drinkers. 
This  was  rilled  with  rich  wine,  and  decorated  with  a  branch  of 
rosemary,  tied  with  gay  ribbons,  according  to  ancient  custom. 

"  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on,"  says  the  old 
proverb  ;  and  it  was  as  sunny  and  auspicious  a  morning  as  heart 
could  wish.  The  bride  looked  uncommonly  beautiful ;  but,  in 
fact,  what  woman  does  not  look  interesting  on  her  wedding  day? 
I  know  no  sight  more  charming  and  touching  than  that  of  a  young 
and  timid  bride,  in  her  robes  of  virgin  white,  led  up  trembling  to 


450  BRACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

the  altar.  When  I  thus  behold  a  lovely  girl,  *n  the  tenderness 
of  her  years,  forsaking  the  house  of  her  fathers,  and  the  home  of 
her  childhood ;  and  with  the  implicit  confiding,  and  the  sweet 
self-abandonment,  which  belong  to  woman,  giving  up  all  the  world 
for  the  man  of  her  choice :  when  I  hear  her,  in  the  good  old  lan 
guage  of  the  ritual,  yielding  herself  to  him,  "  for  better  for  worse, 
fyt  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  to  love,  honor,  and 
obey,  till  death  us  do  part,"  it  brings  to  my  mind  the  beautiful 
and  affecting  self-devotion  of  Euth :  "  Whither  thou  goest  I  will 
go,  and  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge ;  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people,  and  thy  God  my  God." 

The  fair  Julia  was  supported  on  the  trying  occasion  by  Lady 
Lillycraft,  whose  heart  was  overflowing  with  its  wonted  sympathy 
in  all  matters  of  love  and  matrimony.  As  the  bride  approached 
the  altar,  her  face  would  be  one  moment  covered  with  blushes, 
and  the  next  deadly  pale  ;  and  she  seemed  almost  ready  to  shrink 
from  sight  among  her  female  companions. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  is  that  makes  every  one  serious,  and, 
as  it  were,  awe-struck,  at  a  marriage  ceremony ;  which  is  gene 
rally  considered  an  occasion  of  festivity  and  rejoicing.  As  the 
ceremony  was  performing,  I  observed  many  a  rosy  face  among  the 
country  girls  turn  pale,  and  I  did  not  see  a  smile  throughout  the 
church.  The  young  ladies  from  the  Hall  were  almost  as  much 
frightened  as  if  it  had  been  their  own  case,  and  stole  many  a  look 
of  sympathy  at  their  trembling  companion.  A  tear  stood  in  the 
eye  of  the  sensitive  Lady  Lillycraft ;  and  as  to  Phoebe  Wilkins, 
who  was  present,  she  absolutely  wept  and  sobbed  aloud ;  but  it  is 
hard  to  tell,  half  the  tune,  what  these  fond  foolish  creatures  are 
crying  about. 

The  captain,  too,  though  naturally  gay  and  unconcerned,  was 


THE   WEDDING.  451 

much  agitated  on  the  occasion ;  and,  in  attempting  to  put  the 
ring  upon  the  bride's  finger,  dropped  it  on  the  floor ;  which  Lady 
Lillycraft  has  since  assured  me  is  a  very  lucky  omen.  Even  Mas 
ter  Simon  had  lost  his  usual  vivacity,  and  assumed  a  most  whim 
sically  solemn  face,  which  he  is  apt  to  do  on  all  occasions  of  cere 
mony.  He  had  much  whispering  with  the  parson  and  parish- 
clerk,  for  he  is  always  a  busy  personage  in  the  scene,  and  he 
echoed  the  clerk's  amen  with  a  solemnity  and  devotion  that  edi 
fied  the  whole  assemblage. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  ceremony  was  over,  the  tran 
sition  was  magical.  The  bride-cup  was  passed  round,  according 
to  ancient  usage,  for  the  company  to  drink  to  a  happy  union ; 
every  one's  feelings  seemed  to  break  forth  from  restraint.  Mas 
ter  Simon  had  a  world  of  bachelor  pleasantries  to  utter,  and  as 
to  the  gallant  general,  he  bowed  and  cooed  about  the  dulcet  Lady 
Lillycraft,  like  a  mighty  cock-pigeon  about  his  dame. 

The  villagers  gathered  in  the  church-yard  to  cheer  the  happy 
couple  as  they  left  the  church  ;  and  the  musical  tailor  had  mar 
shalled  his  band,  and  set  up  a  hideous  discord,  as  the  blushing 
and  smiling  bride  passed  through  a  lane  of  honest  peasantry  to 
her  carriage.  The  children  shouted  and  threw  up  their  hats ;  the 
bells  rang  a  merry  peal  that  set  all  the  crows  and  rooks  flying  and 
cawing  about  the  air,  and  threatened  to  bring  down  the  battle 
ments  of  the  old  tower ;  and  there  was  a  continual  popping  off  of 
rusty  firelocks  from  every  part  of  the  neighborhood. 

The  prodigal  son  distinguished  himself  on  the  occasion,  hav 
ing  hoisted  a  flag  on  the  top  of  the  school-house,  and  kept  the 
village  in  a  hubbub  from  sunrise,  with  the  sound  of  drum  and  fife 
and  pandean  pipe ;  in  which  species  of  music  several  of  his  schol 
ars  are  making  wonderful  proficiency.  In  his  great  zeal,  however, 


452  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

he  had  nearly  done  mischief ;  for  on  returning  from  church,  the 
horse  of  the  bride's  carriage  took  fright  from  the  discharge  of  a 
row  of  old  gun-barrels,  which  he  had  mounted  as  a  park  of  artil 
lery  in  front  of  the  school-house,  to  give  the  captain  a  military 
salute  as  he  passed. 

The  day  passed  off  with  great  rustic  rejoicing.  Tables  were 
spread  under  the  trees  in  the  park,  where  all  the  peasantry  of  the 
neighborhood  were  regaled  with  roast-beef  and  plum-pudding,  and 
oceans  of  ale.  Beady-Money  Jack  presided  at  one  of  the  tables, 
and  became  so  full  of  good  cheer,  as  to  unbend  from  his  usual 
gravity,  to  sing  a  song  out  of  all  tune,  and  give  two  or  three  shouts 
of  laughter,  that  almost  electrified  his  neighbors,  like  so  many 
peals  of  thunder.  The  schoolmaster  and  the  apothecary  vied  with 
each  other  in  making  speeches  over  their  liquor ;  and  there  were 
occasional  glees  and  musical  performances  by  the  village  band, 
that  must  have  frightened  every  faun  and  dryad  from  the  park. 
Even  old  Christy,  who  had  got  on  a  new  dress,  from  top  to  toe, 
and  shone  in  all  the  splendor  of  bright  leather-breeches,  and  an 
enormous  wedding  favor  in  his  cap,  forgot  his  usual  crustiness, 
became  inspired  by  wine  and  wassail,  and  absolutely  danced  a 
hornpipe  on  one  of  the  tables,  with  all  the  grace  and  agility  of  a 
mannikin  hung  upon  wires. 

Equal  gayety  reigned  within  doors,  where  a  large  party  of 
friends  were  entertained.  Every  one  laughed  at  his  own  pleas 
antry,  without  attending  to  that  of  his  neighbor's.  Loads  ot 
bride-cake  were  distributed.  The  young  ladies  were  all  busy  in 
passing  morsels  of  it  through  the  wedding-ring  to  dream  on,  and 
I  myself  assisted  a  little  boarding-school  girl  in  putting  up  a 
quantity  for  her  companions,  which  I  have  no  doubt  will  set  all 
the  little  heads  in  the  school  gadding,  for  a  week  at  least. 


THE   WEDDING.  453 

''  After  dinner  all  the  company,  great  and  small,  gentle  and  sim 
ple,  abandoned  themselves  to  the  dance :  not  the  modern  quadrille, 
with  its  graceful  gravity,  but  the  merry,  social,  old  country  dance  ; 
the  true  dance,  as  the  Squire  says,  for  a  wedding  occasion,  as  it 
sets  all  the  world  jigging  in  couples,  hand  in  hand,  and  makes 
every  eye  and  every  heart  dance  merrily  to  the  music.  Accord 
ing  to  frank  old  usage,  the  gentlefolks  of  the  Hall  mingled  for  a 
tune  in  the  dance  of  the  peasantry,  who  had  a  great  tent  erected 
for  a  ball-room ;  and  I  think  I  never  saw  Master  Simon  more  in 
his  element  than  when  figuring  about  among  bis  rustic  admirers, 
as  master  of  the  ceremonies ;  and  with  a  mingled  air  of  protec 
tion  and  gallantry,  leading  out  the  quondam  Queen  of  May,  all 
blushing  at  the  signal  honor  conferred  upon  her. 

In  the  evening  the  whole  village  was  illuminated,  excepting 
the  house  of  the  radical,  who  has  not  shown  his  face  during  the 
rejoicings.  There  was  a  display  of  fireworks  at  the  school-house, 
got  up  by  the  prodigal  son,  which  had  well  nigh  set  fire  to  the 
building.  The  Squire  is  so  much  pleased  with  the  extraordinary 
services  of  this  last-mentioned  worthy,  that  he  talks  of  enrolling 
him  in  his  list  of  valuable  retainers,  and  promoting  him  to  some 
important  post  on  the  estate  ;  peradventure  to  be  falconer,  if  the 
hawks  can  ever  be  brought  into  proper  training. 

There  is  a  well-known  old  proverb,  which  says  "  one  wedding 
makes  many," — or  something  to  the  same  purpose ;  and  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  it  holds  good  in  the  present  instance.  I  have 
seen  several  flirtations  among  the  young  people  brought  together 
on  this  occasion ;  and  a  great  deal  of  strolling  about  in  pairs, 
among  the  retired  walks  and  blossoming  shrubberies  of  the  old 
garden :  and  if  groves  were  really  given  to  whispering,  as  poets 
would  fain  make  us  believe,  Heaven  knows  what  love-tales  the 


454  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

grave-looking  old  trees  about  this  venerable  country-seat  might 
blab  to  the  world. 

The  general,  too,  has  waxed  very  zealous  in  his  devotions 
within  the  past  few  days,  as  the  time  of  her  ladyship's  departure 
approaches.  I  observed  him  casting  many  a  tender  look  at  her 
during  the  wedding  dinner,  while  the  courses  were  changing ; 
though  he  was  always  liable  to  be  interrupted  in  his  adoration  by 
the  appearance  of  any  new  delicacy.  The  general,  in  fact,  has 
arrived  at  that  time  of  life,  when  the  heart  and  the  stomach  main 
tain  a  kind  of  balance  of  power,  and  when  a  man  is  apt  to  be  per 
plexed  in  his  affections  between  a  fine  woman  and  a  truffled  tur 
key.  Her  ladyship  was  certainly  rivalled  through  the  whole  of 
the  first  course  by  a  dish  of  stewed  carp ;  and  there  was  one 
glance,  which  was  evidently  intended  to  be  a  point-blank  shot  at 
her  heart,  and  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  effect  a  practicable 
breach,  had  it  not  unluckily  been  directed  away  to  a  tempting  breast 
of  lamb,  in  which  it  immediately  produced  a  formidable  incision. 

Thus  did  this  faithless  general  go  on,  coquetting  during  the 
whole  dinner,  and  committing  an  infidelity  with  every  new  dish  ; 
until,  in  the  end,  he  was  so  overpowered  by  the  attentions  he  had 
paid  to  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl ;  to  pastry,  jelly,  cream,  and  blanc 
mange,  that  he  seemed  to  sink  within  himself:  his  eyes  swam 
beneath  their  lids,  and  their  fire  was  so  much  slackened,  that  he 
could  no  longer  discharge  a  single  glance  that  would  reach  across 
the  table.  Upon  the  whole,  I  fear  the  general  ate  himself  into  as 
much  disgrace,  at  this  memorable  dinner,  as  I  have  seen  him  sleep 
himself  into  on  a  former  occasion. 

I  am  told,  moreover,  that  young  Jack  Tibbets  was  so  touched 
by  the  wedding  ceremony,  at  which  he  was  present,  and  so  capti 
vated  by  the  sensibility  of  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  certainly 


THE   WEDDING.  455 

looked  all  the  better  for  her  tears,  that  he  had  a  reconciliation 
with  her  that  very  day  after  dinner,  in  one  of  the  groves  of  the 
park,  and  danced  with  her  in  the  evening ;  to  the  complete  con 
fusion  of  all  Dame  Tibbets'  domestic  politics.  I  met  them  walk 
ing  together  in  the  park,  shortly  after  the  reconciliation  must 
have  taken  place.  Young  Jack  carried  himself  gayly  and  man 
fully;  but  Phoebe  hung  her  head,  blushing,  as  I  approached. 
However,  just  as  she  passed  me,  and  dropped  a  courtesy,  I  caught 
a  shy  gleam  of  her  eye  from  under  her  bonnet ;  but  it  was  imme 
diately  cast  down  again.  I  saw  enough  in  that  single  gleam,  and 
in  an  involuntary  smile  dimpling  about  her  rosy  lips,  to  feel  sat 
isfied  that  the  little  gipsy's  heart  was  happy  again. 

What  is  more,  Lady  Lillycraft,  with  her  usual  benevolence 
and  zeal  in  all  matters  of  this  tender  nature,  on  hearing  of  the 
reconciliation  of  the  lovers,  undertook  the  critical  task  of  break 
ing  the  matter  to  Eeady-Moriey  Jack.  She  thought  there  was 
no  time  like  the  present,  and  attacked  the  sturdy  old  yeoman  that 
very  evening  in  the  park,  while  his  heart  was  yet  lifted  up  with 
the  Squire's  good  cheer.  Jack  was  a  little  surprised  at  being 
drawn  aside  by  her  ladyship,  but  Avas  not  to  be  flurried  by  such 
an  honor :  he  was  still  more  surprised  by  the  nature  of  her  com 
munication,  and  by  this  first  intelligence  of  an  affair  that  had 
been  passing  under  his  eye.  He  listened,  however,  with  his  usual 
gravity,  as  her  ladyship  represented  the  advantages  of  the  match, 
the  good  qualities  of  the  girl,  and  the  distress  which  she  had 
lately  suffered:  at  length  his  eye  began  to  kindle,  and  his  hand 
to  play  with  the  head  of  his  cudgel.  Lady  Lillycraft  saw  that 
something  in  the  narrative  had  gone  wrong,  and  hastened  to  mol 
lify  his  rising  ire  by  reiterating  the  soft-hearted  Phcebe's  merit 
and  fidelity,  and  her  great  unhappiness  ;  when  old  Eeady-Money 


456  BKACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

suddenly  interrupted  her  by  exclaiming,  that  if  Jack  did  not 
marry  the  wench,  he'd  break  every  bone  in  his  body !  The 
match,  therefore,  is  considered  a  settled  thing :  Dame  Tibbets  and 
the  housekeeper  have  made  friends,  and  drunk  tea  together ;  and 
Phoebe  has  again  recovered  her  good  looks  and  good  spirits,  and 
is  carolling  from  morning  till  night  like  a  lark. 

But  the  most  whimsical  caprice  of  Cupid  is  one  that  I  should 
be  almost  afraid  to  mention,  did  I  not  know  that  I  was  writing 
for  readers  well  experienced  in  the  waywardness  of  this  most 
mischievous  deity.  The  morning  after  the  wedding,  therefore, 
while  Lady  Lillycraft  was  making  preparations  for  her  departure, 
an  audience  was  requested  by  her  immaculate  handmaid,  Mrs. 
Hannah,  who,  with  much  primming  of  the  mouth,  and  many 
maidenly  hesitations,  requested  leave  to  stay  behind,  and  that 
Lady  Lillycraft  would  supply  her  place  with  some  other  servant. 
Her  ladyship  was  astonished ;  "  What !  Hannah  going  to  quit 
her,  that  had  lived  with  her  so  long ! " 

<;  Why,  one  could  not  help  it ;  one  must  settle  in  life  some 
time  or  other." 

The  good  lady  was  still  lost  in  amazement ;  at  length  the 
secret  was  gasped  from  the  dry  lips  of  the  maiden  gentlewoman : 
"  She  had  been  some  time  thinking  of  changing  her  condition, 
and  at  length  had  given  her  word,  last  evening,  to  Mr.  Christy, 
the  huntsman." 

How,  or  when,  or  where  this  singular  courtship  had  been  car 
ried  on,  I  have  not  been  able  to  learn ;  nor  how  she  has  been  able, 
with  the  vinegar  of  her  disposition,  to  soften  the  stony  heart  of 
•old  Nimrod ;  so,  however,  it  is,  and  it  has  astonished  every  one. 
With  all  her  ladyship's  love  of  match-making,  this  last  fume  of 
Hymen's  torch  has  been  too  much  for  her.  She  has  endeavored 


THE   WEDDING.  457 

to  reason  with  Mrs.  Hannah,  but  all  in  vain  ;  her  mind  was  made 
up,  and  she  grew  tart  on  the  least  contradiction.  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  applied  to  the  Squire  for  his  interference.  "  She  did  not 
know  what  she  should  do  without  Mrs.  Hannah,  she  had  been 
used  to  have  her  about  her  so  long  a  time." 

The  Squire,  on  the  contrary,  rejoiced  in  the  match,  as  reliev 
ing  the  good  lady  from  a  kind  of  toilet-tyrant,  under  whose  sway 
she  had  suffered  for  years.  Instead  of  thwarting  the  affair, 
therefore,  he  has  given  it  his  full  countenance ;  a.nd  declares  that 
he  will  set  up  the  young  couple  in  one  of  the  best  cottages  on  his 
estate.  The  approbation  of  the  Squire  has  been  followed  by  that 
of  the  whole  household ;  they  all  declare,  that  if  ever  matches  are 
really  made  in  heaven,  this  must  have  been ;  for  that  old  Christy 
and  Mrs.  Hannah  were  as  evidently  formed  to  be  linked  together, 
as  ever  were  pepper-box  and  vinegar-cruet. 

As  soon  as  this  matter  was  arranged,  Lady  Lillycraft  took 
her  leave  of  the  family  at  the  Hall ;  taking  with  her  the  captain 
and  his  blushing  bride,  who  are  to  pass  the  honeymoon  with  her. 
Master  Simon  accompanied  them  on  horseback,  and  indeed  means 
to  ride  on  ahead  to  make  preparations.  The  general,  who  was 
fishing  in  vain  for  an  invitation  to  her  seat,  handed  her  ladyship 
into  her  carriage  with  a  heavy  sigh ;  upon  which  his  bosom 
friend,  Master  Simon,  who  was  just  mounting  his  horse,  gave  me 
a  knowing  wink,  made  an  abominably  wry  face,  and  leaning  from 
his  saddle,  whispered  loudly  in  my  ear,  "  It  won't  do !  "  Then 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  away  he  cantered  off.  The  general 
stood  for  some  time  waving  his  hat  after  the  carriage  as  it  rolled 
down  the  avenue,  until  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  sneezing, 
from  exposing  his  head  to  the  cool  breeze.  I  observed  that  he 
returned  rather  thoughtfully  to  the  house ;  whistling  softly  to 
20 


458  BEACEBEIDGE   HALL. 

himself  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  an  exceedingly  du 
bious  air. 

The  company  have  now  almost  all  taken  their  departure ;  I 
have  determined  to  do  the  same  to-morrow  morning ;  and  I  hope 
my  reader  may  not  think  that  I  have  already  lingered  too  long 
at  the  Hall.  I  have  been  tempted  to  do  so,  however,  because  I 
thought  I  had  lit  upon  one  of  the  retired  places  where  there  are 
yet  some  traces  to  be  met  with  of  old  English  character.  A  lit 
tle  while  hence,  and  all  these  will  probably  have  passed  away. 
Keady-Money  Jack  will  sleep  with  his  fathers ;  the  good  Squire, 
and  all  his  peculiarities,  will  be  buried  in  the  neighboring  church. 
The  old  Hall  will  be  modernized  into  a  fashionable  country-seat, 
or,  peradventure,  a  manufactory.  The  park  will  be  cut  up  into 
petty  farms  and  kitchen  gardens.  A  daily  coach  will  run  through 
the  village ;  it  will  become,  like  all  other  commonplace  villages, 
thronged  with  coachmen,  post-boys,  tipplers  and  politicians :  and 
Christinas,  May-day,  and  all  the  other  hearty  merry-makings  of 
the  "  good  old  times,"  will  be  forgotten. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL. 


And  so,  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
I  hold  it  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part. 

HAMLET. 


HAVING  taken  leave  of  the  Hall  and  its  inmates,  and  brought  the 
history  of  my  visit  to  something  like  a  close,  there  seems  to  re 
main  nothing  further  than  to  make  my  bow,  and  exit.  It  is  my 
foible,  however,  to  get  on  such  companionable  terms  with  my 
reader  in  the  course  of  a  work,  that  it  really  costs  me  some  pain 
to  part  with  him,  and  I  am  apt  to  keep  him  by  the  hand,  and 
have  a  few  farewell  words  at  the  end  of  my  last  volume. 

When  I  cast  an  eye  back  upon  the  work  I  am  just  conclud 
ing,  I  cannot  but  be  sensible  how  full  it  must  be  of  errors  and 
imperfections ;  indeed,  how  should  it  be  otherwise,  writing,  as  I 
do,  about  subjects  and  scenes,  with  which,  as  a  stranger,  I  am 
but  partially  acquainted1?  Many  will,  doubtless,  find  cause  to 
smile  at  very  obvious  blunders  which  I  may  have  made ;  and 
many  may,  perhaps,  be  offended  at  what  they  may  conceive  pre 
judiced  representations.  Some  will  think  I  might  have  said 
much  more  on  such  subjects  as  may  suit  their  peculiar  tastes : 
whilst  others  will  think  I  had  done  wiser  to  have  left  those  sub 
jects  entirely  alone. 


460  BEACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

It  will  probably  be  said,  too,  by  some,  that  I  view  England 
with  a  partial  eye.  Perhaps  I  do :  for  I  can  never  forget  that  it 
is  my  "  father-land."  And  yet  the  circumstances  under  which  I 
have  viewed  it  have  by  no  means  been  such  as  were  calculated  to 
produce  favorable  impressions.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  time 
that  I  have  resided  in  it,  I  have  lived  almost  unknowing  and  un 
known  ;  seeking  no  favors  and  receiving  none :  "  a  stranger  and 
a  sojourner  in  the  land,"  and  subject  to  all  the  chills  and  neglects 
that  are  the  common  lot  of  the  stranger. 

When  I  consider  these  circumstances,  and  recollect  how  often 
I  have  taken  up  my  pen,  with  a  mind  ill  at  ease,  and  spirits  much 
dejected  and  cast  down ;  I  cannot  but  think  I  was  not  likely  to 
err  on  the  favorable  side  of  the  picture.  The  opinions  I  have 
given  of  English-character  have  been  the  result  of  much  quiet, 
dispassionate,  and  varied  observation,.  It  is  a  character  not  to  be 
hastily  studied,  for  it  always  puts  on  a  repulsive  and  ungracious 
aspect  to  a  stranger.  Let  those,  then,  who  condemn  my  repre 
sentations  as  too  favorable,  observe  this  people  as  closely  and  de 
liberately  as  I  have  done,  and  they  will,  probably,  change  their 
opinion.  Of  one  thing,  at  any  rate,  I  am  certain,  that  I  have 
spoken  honestly  and  sincerely,  from  the  convictions  of  my  mind, 
and  the  dictates  of  my  heart.  When  I  first  published  my  former 
writings,  it  was  with  no  hope  of  gaining  favor  in  English  eyes, 
for  I  little  thought  they  were  to  become  current  out  of  my  own 
country :  and  had  I  merely  sought  popularity  among  my  own 
countrymen,  I  should  have  taken  a  more  direct  and  obv.ious  way, 
by  gratifying  rather  than  rebuking  the  angry  feelings  then  preva 
lent  against  England. 

And  here  let  me  acknowledge  my  warm,  my  thankful  feelings, 
at  the  effect  produced  by  one  of  my  trivial  lucubrations.  I  allude 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL.  461 

to  the  essay  in  the  Sketch  Book,  on  the  subject  of  the  literary 
feuds  between  England  and  America.  I  cannot  express  the 
heartfelt  delight  I  have  experienced,  at  the  unexpected  sympathy 
and  approbation  with  which  those  remarks  have  been  received  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  I  speak  this  not  from  any  paltry 
feelings  of  gratified  vanity ;  for  I  attribute  the  effect  to  no  merit 
of  my  pen.  The  paper  in  question  was  brief  and  casual,  and  the 
ideas  it  conveyed  Avere  simple  and  obvious.  "It  was  the  cause; 
it  was  the  cause  "  alone.  There  was  a  predisposition  on  the  part 
of  my  readers  to  be  favorably  affected.  My  countrymen  re 
sponded  in  heart  to  the  filial  feelings  I  had  avowed  in  their  name 
towards  the  parent  country :  and  there  was  a  generous  sympathy 
in  every  English  bosom  towards  a  solitary  individual,  lifting  up 
his  voice  in  a  strange  land,  to  vindicate  the  injured  character  of 
his  nation.  There  are  some  causes  so  sacred  as  to  carry  with 
them  an  irresistible  appeal  to  every  virtuous  bosom  ;  and  he  needs 
but  little  power  of  eloquence,  who  defends  the  honor  of  his  wife, 
his  mother,  or  his  country. 

1  hail,  therefore,  the  success  of  that  brief  paper,  as  showing 
how  much  good  may  be  done  by  a  kind  word,  however  feeble, 
when  spoken  in  season — as  showing  how  much  dormant  good 
feeling  actually  exists  in  each  country,  towards  the  other,  which 
only  wants  the  slightest  spark  to  kindle  it  into  a  genial  flame — 
as  showing,  in  fact,  what  I  have  all  along  believed  and  asserted, 
that  the  two  nations  would  grow  together  in  esteem  and  amity, 
if  meddling  and  malignant  spirits  would  but  throw  by  their  mis 
chievous  pens,  and  leave  kindred  hearts  to  the  kindly  impulses  of 
nature. 

I  once  more  assert,  and  I  assert  it  with  increased  c6nviction 
of  its  truth,  that  there  exists  among  the  great  majority  of  my 


462  BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 

countrymen  a  favorable  feeling  toward  England.  I  repeat  this 
assertion,  because  I  think  it  a  truth  that  cannot  too  often  be  reit 
erated,  and  because  it  has  met  with  some  contradiction.  Among 
all  the  liberal  and  enlightened  minds  of  my  countrymen,  among 
all  those  which  eventually  give  a  tone  to  national  opinion,  there 
exists  a  cordial  desire  to  be  on  terms  of  courtesy  and  friendship. 
But  at  the  same  time,  there  exists  in  those  very  minds  a  distrust 
of  reciprocal  good-will  on  the  part  of  England.  They  have  been 
rendered  morbidly  sensitive  by  the  attacks  made  upon  their  coun 
try  by  the  English  press ;  and  their  occasional  irritability  on  this 
subject  has  been  misinterpreted  into  a  settled  and  unnatural  hos 
tility. 

For  my  part,  I  consider  this  jealous  sensibility  as  belonging 
to  generous  natures.  I  should  look  upon  my  countrymen  as  fallen 
indeed  from  that  independence  of  spirit  which  is  their  birth-gift ; 
as  fallen  indeed  from  that  pride  of  character  which  they  inherit 
from  the  proud  nation  from  which  they  sprung,  could  they  tamely 
sit  down  under  the  infliction  of  contumely  and  insult.  Indeed, 
the  very  impatience  which  they  show  as  to  the  misrepresentations 
of  the  press,  proves  their  respect  for  English  opinion,  and  their 
desire  for  English  amity ;  for  there  is  never  jealousy  where  there 
is  not  strong  regard. 

It  is  easy  to  say,  that  these  attacks  are  all  the  effusions  of 
worthless  scribblers,  and  treated  with  silent  contempt  by  the  na 
tion  ;  but,  alas !  the  slanders  of  the  scribbler  travel  abroad,  and 
the  silent  contempt  of  the  nation  is  only  known  at  home.  With 
England,  then,  it  remains,  as  I  have  formerly  asserted,  to  pro 
mote  a  mutual  spirit  of  conciliation ;  she  has  but  to  hold  the  lan 
guage  of  friendship  and  respect,  and  she  is  secure  of  the  good-will 
of  every  American  bosom. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL.  463 

In  expressing  these  sentiments,  I  would  utter  nothing  that 
should  commit  the  proper  spirit  of  my  countrymen.  We  seek  no 
boon  at  England's  hands  :  we  ask  nothing  as  a  favor.  Her  friend 
ship  is  not  necessary,  nor  would  her  hostility  be  dangerous  to  our 
well-being.  We  ask  nothing  from  abroad  that  we  cannot  recip 
rocate.  But  with  respect  to  England,  we  have  a  warm  feeling  of 
the  heart,  the  glow  of  consanguinity  that  still  lingers  in  our 
blood.  Interest  apart — past  differences  forgotten — we  extend  the 
hand  of  old  relationship.  We  merely  ask,  do  not  estrange  us 
from  you ;  do  not  destroy  the  ancient  tie  of  blood ;  do  not  let 
scoffers  and  slanderers  drive  a  kindred  nation  from  your  side :  we 
would  fain  be  friends ;  do  not  compel  us  to  be  enemies. 

There  needs  no  better  rallying  ground  for  international  amity, 
than  that  furnished  by  an  eminent  English  writer :  "  There  is," 
says  he,  "  a  sacred  bond  between  us  of  blood  and  of  language, 
which  no  circumstances  can  break.  Our  literature  must  always 
be  theirs ;  and  though  their  laws  are  no  longer  the  same  as  ours, 
we  have  the  same  Bible,  and  we  address  our  common  Father  in 
the  same  prayer.  Nations  are  too  ready  to  admit  that  they  have 
natural  enemies  ;  why  should  they  be  less  willing  to  believe  that 
they  have  natural  friends  ?  "  * 

To  the  magnanimous  spirits  of  both  countries  must  we  trust 
to  carry  such  a  natural  alliance  of  affection  into  full  effect.  To 
pens  more  powerful  than  mine  I  leave  the  noble  task  of  promot 
ing  the  cause  of  national  amity.  To  the  intelligent  and  enlight 
ened  of  my  own  country,  I  address  my  parting  voice,  entreating 
them  to  show  themselves  superior  to  the  petty  attacks  of  the  ig- 

*  From  an  article  (said  to  be  by  Robert  Southey,  Esq.)  published  in  the 
Quarterly  Review.  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  that  publication  should  so  often 
forget  the  generous  text  here  given. 


464  BKACEBKIDGE   HALL. 

norant  and  the  worthless,  and  still  to  look  with  dispassionate  and 
philosophic  eye  to  the  moral  character  of  England,  as  the  intel 
lectual  source  of  our  rising  greatness ;  while  I  appeal  to  every 
generous-minded  Englishman  from  the  slanders  which  disgrace 
the  press,  insult  the  understanding,  and  belie  the  magnanimity  of 
his  country :  and  I  invite  him  to  look  to  America,  as  to  a  kin 
dred  nation,  worthy  of  its  origin ;  giving,  in  the  healthy  vigor  of 
its  growth,  the  best  of  comments  on  its  parent  stock  ;  and  reflect 
ing,  in  the  dawning  brightness  of  its  fame,  the  moral  effulgence 
of  British  glory. 

I  am  sure  that  such  an  appeal  will  not  be  made  in  vain.  In 
deed,  I  have  noticed,  for  some  time  past,  an  essential  change  in 
English  sentiment  with  regard  to  America.  In  parliament,  that 
fountain-head  of  public  opinion,  there  seems  to  be  an  emulation, 
on  both  sides  of  the  house,  in  holding  the  language  of  courtesy 
and  friendship.  The  same  spirit  is  daily  becoming  more  and 
more  prevalent  in  good  society.  There  is  a  growing  curiosity 
concerning  my  country ;  a  craving  desire  for  correct  information, 
that  cannot  fail  to  lead  to  a  favorable  understanding.  The  scoffer, 
I  trust,  has  had  his  day ;  the  time  of  the  slanderer  is  gone  by ; 
the  ribald  jokes,  the  stale  commonplaces,  which  have  so  long 
passed  current  when  America  was  the  theme,  are  now  banished  to 
the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar,  or  only  perpetuated  by  the  hireling 
scribblers  and  traditional  jesters  of  the  press.  The  intelligent 
and  high-minded  now  pride  themselves  upon  making  America  a 
study. 

But  however  my  feelings  may  be  understood  or  reciprocated 
on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  I  utter  them  without  reserve,  for  I 
have  ever  found  that  to  speak  frankly  is  to  speak  safely.  I  am 
not  so  sanguine  as  to  believe  that  the  two  nations  are  ever  to  be 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL. 

bound  together  by  any  romantic  ties  of  feeling ;  but  I  believe 
that  much  may  be  done  towards  keeping  alive  cordial  sentiments, 
were  every  well-disposed  mind  occasionally  to  throw  in  a  simple 
word  of  kindness.  If  I  have,  indeed,  produced  any  such  effect 
by  my  writings,  it  will  be  a  soothing  reflection  to  me,  that  for 
once,  in  the  course  of  a  rather  negligent  life,  I  have  been  use 
ful  ;  that  for  once,  by  the  casual  exercise  of  a  pen  which  has  been  * 
in  general  but  too  unprofitably  employed,  I  have  awakened  a 
chord  of  sympathy  between  the  land  of  my  fathers  and  the  dear 
land  which  gave  me  birth. 

In  the  spirit  of  these  sentiments  I  now  take  my  farewell  of 
the  paternal  soil.  With  anxious  eye  do  I  behold  the  clouds  of 
doubt  and  difficulty  that  lower  over  it,  and  earnestly  do  I  hope 
they  may  all  clear  up  into  serene  and  settled  sunshine.  In  bid 
ding  this  last  adieu,  my  heart  is  filled  with  fond,  yet  melancholy 
emotions ;  and  still  I  linger,  and  still,  like  a  child  leaving  the 
venerable  abodes  of  his  forefathers,  I  turn  to  breathe  forth  a  filial 
benediction  :  "  Peace  be  within  thy  walls,  oh  England !  and  plen- 
teousness  within  thy  palaces ;  for  my  brethren  and  my  compan 
ions'  sake  I  will  now  say,  Peace  be  within  thee ! " 
20* 


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